


Advent Calendar 2018

by lamentomori



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment, 新日本プロレス | New Japan Pro-Wrestling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Demons, F/F, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, LIJ may be a family but sometimes they're more, Light Bondage, M/M, Masturbation, Mild Gore, Smut, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-05 00:56:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 47,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16800493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamentomori/pseuds/lamentomori
Summary: A collection of fics written on request for Christmas





	1. 1st of December: Snow Globe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1st of December: Evil is trying to help Hiromu pack for moving house, but gets distracted by a gift he gave him a long time ago.

“You still have this thing?” Evil fights back a smile as he stares down at the little snow globe in his hand. Inside is a little crashed UFO, and an alien with a Santa hat on its head is leaning against it. He’d bought it when he was on excursion in the US, and had _known_ Hiromu would love it.

“What?” Hiromu’s not looked up from whatever it is he’s doing, that is definitely not packing like he should be. Evil can feel a goofy smile stretching his lips. The Americans he’d been with at the time had been bewildered as to why he was buying such garbage. He’d not offered an explanation, it wasn’t any of their business. When the little globe had arrived to Hiromu back in Japan, he’d gotten a picture of a gleefully grinning Hiromu, holding it close to his cheek. Evil still has that picture. It’s moved phone many times. One of those pictures he keeps so he can remember how much he loves Hiromu’s smile. “Hey, be careful with Nabe-chan!” Hiromu is suddenly at his side, carefully plucking the little ornament from his hands, fussing over it.

“Nabe-chan? You named it after me?” Hiro gives him a look, an eyebrow raised, his lips pursed. A look of slightly judgemental amusement.

“I named him after his father.” Hiromu haughtily sniffs, and turns his nose up. He casts his gaze down to the little snow globe, and shakes it. The little chips of white, and glitter swirl around the little model. “He’s been a very good little friend to me.” A pretty smile blossoms on Hiromu’s lips.

“Oh? Well, I’m glad.” Evil settles his arm around Hiromu’s waist, rests his chin on his shoulder, and closes his eyes, taking in the scent of Hiromu’s hair. “If I’m his father, what are you?” Hiro laughs at that, and shakes the globe again.

“If you’re trying to imply that I’m his mother, you’re very wrong.” He leans back against Evil. “I’m his roommate. Probably, I might be his mama...” Hiromu laughs, and bumps his head against Evil’s.

“So, he spills his secrets to you too?”

“Hmm… what secrets could Nabe-chan have? He’s a good boy who lives in his little globe.” Hiromu shakes it again, and holds it up. “I’m glad he can’t talk though… he could tell some tales. He has _all_ my secrets.” Evil rubs his chin against Hiromu’s shoulder, and tightens his arms around Hiromu’s waist, deciding to forgo questioning what the little alien might have to say. “Did I ever thank you for him?” Hiromu shifts slightly, looking at Evil.

“You did.” Evil kisses his temple. Under the pretence of thanking Evil for the little snow globe, Hiromu had given him their first proper kiss. Their very first kiss doesn’t count, some drunken dare isn’t a first kiss.

“Good.” Hiro nods to himself, shaking the snow globe again. Evil lets him go, and heads over to couch, where Hiromu had been sitting, the box he was supposed to be packing empty on the floor near it. On the coffee table is Hiromu’s sketch book. The usual crayon drawings are interspersed with actually good sketches. The piece Hiromu had been working on is a pencil sketch of Evil considering the little snow globe. “This one for your blog?” It’s not. He knows that. It’s a carefully shaded pencil sketch. The public gets the crayon drawings, all bright colours and chaos. The grey pencil drawings aren’t for them. Hiromu looks at him, and shrugs. He turns back to the little snow globe again.

“You think people would like the grey ones as much as the colourful ones?” Hiromu’s shaking the globe again, his gaze on the swirling snow and glitter. His tone makes it clear that Hiromu isn’t so much joking as asking a rhetorical question for the sake of having something to say.

“I think they’d like them because they were by you.” Evil starts looking through the sketch book, the pencil sketches are all of the team. Beautiful in their simplicity. The sort of mundane things that most people don’t think twice about; Naito napping in the back of a bus, Bushi painting his nails, Sanada fussing with his mohawk. Nothing unusual, nothing interesting, nothing important.

“Maybe, but they’re not for other people.” Hiromu sits down by Evil, and sets the snow globe on the table.

“Hmm?” Evil wraps his arm around Hiromu’s shoulders, and pulls him close. He flops over and lies down, pulling Hiromu over him. “Why draw them then?”

“To remember what’s in them,” Hiromu twists in Evil’s arms, and hides his face against Evil’s chest.

“Why not take photos like Naito then?” Evil runs a hand up Hiromu’s back, tangling in his hair. Hiromu sighs, and nuzzles against Evil.

“Naito wants to remember how things looked,” Hiro looks at him, a fond little smile on his face, “I want to remember how they felt.” He leans up, and kisses Evil. A slow, sweet kiss. Evil flexes his fingers against Hiromu’s scalp, his other hand tightening around Hiromu’s waist. Hiromu breaks the kiss, and shifts to rest more comfortably over Evil. “That’s why they’re not for anyone one else.” Hiromu strokes Evil’s face.

“Still,” Hiromu rests his finger on Evil’s lips. He grins at Evil, tapping his finger against Evil’s pout. There’s a tease in his gaze, a promise for something more to come.

“No still. They’re for me, things I want to remember for myself.” Hiromu moves his finger, and presses a kiss to Evil’s lips.

“So, are we packing Nabe-chan or not?” Evil moves Hiromu’s hair from his eyes, trailing his finger over his brow. “Which is what we’re supposed to be doing remember? Not snuggling, or drawing pictures on the couch. Naito’ll be here soon to move all your stuff.”

“Eh, he can help pack.” Hiromu grins, but does get off Evil, and put his sketchbook into the box on the floor. “And, of course Nabe-chan is moving in with us.” Hiromu scoops the little globe up, and shakes it. “He’s very important,” Hiromu rests the little globe on Evil’s chest, smiling fondly at it.

“Why?”

“Why? You sent him to me all the way from America.” Hiromu shrugs, like it doesn’t mean much of anything. Evil knows it means a lot, Hiromu is a sentimental man.

“I was thinking of you the whole time I was there.” Evil picks the little snow globe up, and shakes it. “I missed you, and I wanted you to know.” Evil sits up, and kisses the side of Hiromu’s head. “C’mon, hurry up, and finish packing. We need to get home.” Hiromu glances over at him. “C’mon. We need to get your stuff packed so we can take it, you, and Nabe-chan home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for @honestlykaren on tumblr


	2. 2nd of December: Toys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2nd of December: Heath asked for help, Rhyno isn't very good at saying no to him. This is why he's in a war with a Soccer Mom.

_I need your help_. A request for help is not something Rhyno is overly familiar with, but when it comes from his tag-partner, it’s not one he finds he can ignore. This is the only reason he’s awake at approximately too-early-o’clock, standing in line outside a toy store in the freezing cold.

“I swear, man, every year… _every_ year there’s always one.” Heath’s blowing onto the lid of his Starbucks coffee, apparently forgetting that to cool the liquid inside he’d have to be blowing on it, and not the plastic lid.

“One?” Rhyno asks, mostly because he feels like he should. His own Starbucks is more than cool enough to drink, because the ambient temperature outside is similar to the North Pole.

“Some _special_ toy they gotta have. Kids, man.” Heath laughs, and shoots Rhyno a _you with me_ look. It’s the same damn look that had him tagging with Heath in the first place.

“That’s why we’re here?” He’s stamping his feet, trying to make them feel like feet and not ice-blocks vaguely attached to his ankle.

“Yes, sir.” Heath flashes a grin so bright, and so earnest that it’s hard to be annoyed at the cold, and the line, and the time. “Gotta make sure we get the kids what they want.” That grin doesn’t waiver until he sips at his coffee. Then he starts fanning his tongue. Somehow, his coffee is still hot.

“Here, mine’s cool.” Rhyno takes the too hot coffee, and Heath chugs a good portion of the cooler cup.

“Thanks.” The brilliant grin is back for a moment. “This line though…” He trails off, and squints up the line, his hand shielding his eyes against the non-existent sun out of habit. “I hope what I need is still there when we can get in the store.” Rhyno claps him on the shoulder.

“We’ll get what we need.” Steely determination, and if needed hard elbows will result in Heath’s kids getting exactly what they want. Heath grins over at him again.

“It’s why you’re here, man.” He laughs, taking another drink of his new coffee.

The line takes about three hundred years to move into the store, which is so hot Rhyno almost wants to turn around and go back out into the frozen wastes of outside. The throng of people is mostly vicious looking middle-aged ladies, their soccer mom hair swept over their brows, leaving their sharp eyes clear. Their carts look less like they’re for filling with toys, and more like they’re for using as battering rams. The whole scene is sound-tracked by Mariah Carey, a beautiful Valkyrie singing to warriors on their way to shopping Valhalla.

“We got a list?” Rhyno grabs one of the carts, and shoots the woman who’d been reaching for it a look. She doesn’t back down. She stares at him as she pulls the next cart free, bumping it against Rhyno’s on her way on to the shop floor. Soccer mom means business.

“It’s on my phone.” Heath fishes his cell from his pocket. A flip phone, the like of which Rhyno hasn’t seen since the last episode of Cops he watched. “Alright.” That damn grin is back, and Heath brandishes his phone like a sword. “Let’s do this!”

First stop on the list is easy enough. The baby aisle isn’t deserted, but the new moms and bored looking aunties aren’t putting up a fight. They’re milling around discussing the virtues of teething rings, not posing much of a threat at all. The needed gift is quickly, and easily secured, letting them face the next stop.

Boys under ten.

 _This_ is a battlefield. Grown men are reaching over each other’s heads, their wives barking orders to get the right Hot Wheels. Heath takes a deep breath, and leads the charge into the battle.

“What do we need?” Rhyno asks as quietly as he can. It feels like covert tactics might be the best choice. Let the maddening crowd around them bray at each other, if they can keep quiet, they can sneak in and out of this warzone, and into the next efficiently.

“Leave it to me.” Heath seems to get his idea. He has a determined look in his eye. The look of a man with his eyes on the prize. “Get to the end of the aisle,” he claps Rhyno on the shoulder. “I’ll meet you there.”

“Roger.” Rhyno manoeuvres the cart with as much skill as he can past squabbling couples, and bewildered looking divorced dads. Those standout like sore thumbs, their would-be trendy clothes ill-suited to this battle. He turns to face the aisle, and can spot Heath easily. His fiery hair acting like a beacon. His hands are darting into the displayed toy packages, discarding ones that aren’t right, securing the ones that are to his chest. He ducks under a tall man, dragging a scooter down from the highest shelf, and emerges victorious with his bounty.

Girls under ten is their next stop, and it is a warzone of a different flavour. An aisle of women with the same bob, same jeggings, same Ugg boots, same butt-flattering winter jacket, and leather purse. It’s like an aisle of ruthless clones. Several of them turn to look at Rhyno as he enters the aisle. His hands tighten on the cart’s bar. It feels like a single misplaced step or too loud breath could cause a riot. Heath glances over at him.

“I can’t see it.” He mutters under his breath. One of the women looks over. If she were a cat her ears would be pricked, Rhyno is certain.

“See what?”

“Scruff-a-Luvs… I need two.” Heath purses his lips, and casts his gaze down the aisle. “We’re going to have to-“

“There.” Rhyno elbows Heath lightly, in the middle of the aisle, near the woman from the entrance of the store, are the toys they’re looking for. “Two of them, right?” Heath nods, and Rhyno sets out. He’s careful not to bump the carts of the soccer moms, fearful of drawing their attention. It feels like walking into a nest of harpies, that are quietly napping, but could be roused easily. He picks one of the toys from the shelf, deposits it into the cart, and reaches for the next. Soccer mom has her hand on the next box. She smirks as she puts it into her cart quickly, clearly intending to take the last Scruff-a-Luv on the shelf. Rhyno is too fast for her. He’s certain she hisses at him. A store employee appears suddenly, pushing a cage filled with toys to be placed on the shelves. Rhyno uses the distraction to escape the Soccer mom’s attention.

“Alright!” Heath claps Rhyno’s shoulder, and gives him that grin again. “Now we just need to get a…” He trails off. “A robot, that you can program… this isn’t a good note.” Heath laughs, and leads the way to the right aisle. A figure dashes past them. Soccer mom. Rhyno squares his shoulders, readies his legs, and charges.

“Hey! Watch where you’re going, jerk!” Soccer mom shouts. Rhyno skids to a halt in an aisle of white boxes, and divorced dads. He scans the aisle, hunting for anything that might be a programmable robot. Every box declares something along those lines. Everything looks expensive, and confusing.

“Woah, you found it!” Heath collides with Rhyno’s shoulder. “I knew I took you with me for a reason.” Heath slings his arm over Rhyno’s shoulders, and leads the way to the checkout. “So, you wanna get some more coffee after this?”

“Sounds good.” Rhyno nods along, agreeing with Heath’s expanding plans for what is now breakfast. It’s probably just about what is a reasonable time for breakfast. Soccer mom is at the checkout beside them. Rhyno gives her a nod. She was a fine opponent in this battle. She narrows her eyes, and turns to the server. She clearly didn’t enjoy the hunt as much as Rhyno did. He estimates it’ll be at least two minutes before she demands to speak to a manager. He was overly generous, it takes one. He gives Soccer Mom’s server a sympathetic smile, which is returned.

“So, after breakfast, you’ll help me get the _other_ toys, right?” Heath elbows him, a sleezy smile on his face. Rhyno nods, hoping the next _toy_ store is less busy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for @taleacorven on tumblr


	3. 3rd of December: Carol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 3rd of December: Finn visits churches more often than most would expect.

_Be near me lord Jesus I ask you to stay  
Close by me for ever, and love me, I pray._

He shouldn’t be here. Yet, he always comes. The burn that fills his veins is comforting. This invisible self-flagellation is important to him. He wants what dwells inside him to suffer. He’d never asked for it. He’d been raised a good Christian boy. He’d been raised better than to make deals with Devils.

Devils are attracted to sins. He has many. He’d wanted to be better. He wanted more power. He wanted to the best. His Devil had made him an offer. The price was only a soul. He broke a good man for that deal. The Devil had been pleased. He’d gained his power. He’d gained his fame. The price as high. He paid it. Someone else is still paying it.

_Bless all the dear children in your tender care,  
And fit us for heaven, to live with you there._

The sound of boot heels on the floor boards of the old church is far louder now that the choir is between songs. Finn doesn’t look over as the owner of the boots sits beside him.

“I didn’t think someone like you would be in a place like this.” Finn doesn’t look over, but Elias doesn’t seem to care. He’s watching the group of children, as they launch into their next hymn.

_His men of might, in his own sight_ _  
All young children to slay_

Elias chuckles to himself, leans back in the pew, and props his feet up on the one in front of them. Finn spares him a glance. He’s in a skin-tight Henley shirt, a flimsy cotton scarf around his neck, a wry smile on his lips.

“Is it content to rend flesh, and break bones?” He doesn’t look at Finn. He seems to be staring at once of the choirboys; a plump looking boy, all round cheeks, and curly hair. “Does it long to devour? To taste the blood, and gnaw on the bones of prey.” Elias licks his lips, and shakes his head. “The young ones aren’t any fun, you know?” He tilts his head towards Finn, that wry smile still on his lips. “There’s a sweet spot for hunting.” The smile stretches into a grin, a spark of danger in Elias’ eyes. “The perfect age.” His gaze slides to the choir leader. A tall man, broad shoulders, trim waist, that looks like its muscle is just running to fat. “So, demon…” He stands up, and dramatically bows at the waist. “I invite you to the hunt with me.” Finn can feel the excitement of his Devil.

_Word of the Father, now in flesh appearing_

Finn wants to refuse. The Devil is meek from being in the church, but it’s strong enough to push through his malaise, and forces a grin to his face.

“Sounds fun.”

Elias leads the way, through snow covered streets, to a dark alleyway. A break in the clouds, lets moonlight spill into the alleyway. Elias is bathed in the light. His skin ripples, and tears. His limbs reforming themselves, his face stretching. It feels like hours pass, but it’s really only minutes. Then it’s over, and in the place of the man, stands a beast. A monstrously huge wolf.

“Shall we?” The wolf’s voice is a growl, low and rumbling.

Finn fades when the Devil takes control. He can feel the agony of the creature taking his form, but it disappears quickly. He can see what the Devil sees, but he can’t feel anything. He’s an uninvolved passenger in the creature’s body. Long ago, he’d wanted to explain that, but he broke a good man. He doesn’t get second chances there. The Devil yowls in the delight when it’s freed, stretching its wings, and extending its claws. For a moment, Finn thinks it’ll lunge for Elias. It settles on its hunches, primed for an attack. The fur along Elias’ spine seems to stand on end, ready to respond. Then, the hunt is on. A howl comes from Elias, and Finn is watching the city from the skies.

The choir leader leaves the church alone. The children, thankfully, long gone in their parents’ cars. The werewolf stalks slowly, and the Devil hovers over the man’s SUV. Finn can’t look away when he’s a passenger like this. He can’t close his eyes, because they’re not his to close. The man doesn’t get a chance to even scream before talons, and teeth make quick work of his life. The Devil tires of the corpse the moment it is that. It perches on the hood of the SUV, watching the wolf devouring the man’s flesh, its paws bloody as it uses them to hold the carcass down.

 _O come, O come, Emmanuel_ __  
And ransom captive Israel  
That mourns in lonely exile here

The Devil fades from him. Finn slides in a heap onto the snow-covered ground. He can feel blood on his hands, more so on his feet. He wriggles his toes, hearing them squelching in his boots. His stomach ripples. Nausea isn’t the worst thing that’s come from the Devil having control. He fights it down, keeping his eyes from the crunching of bones. He needs a drink.

Another howl. The Devil thrums with joy. Finn closes his eyes. The werewolf barrels into his side, its muzzle is dripping with blood. It nuzzles against Finn’s neck, smearing blood against his skin. He can feel it drying as quickly as his coat is soaking up water from the snow. Elias’ form changes slowly, melting from horrifying werewolf, back into his human one. His clothes undamaged, even his flimsy scarf seems fine. His bloody hands pin Finn’s shoulders to the ground. He looks like he might bite Finn’s jugular out. He doesn’t know if he’d put up a fight. He has everything he wanted, all it cost him was someone else’s soul. Death might not be so bad.

“Wasn’t that fun, demon?” Elias leans down, and presses his lips to Finn’s lips. The blood remaining on his lips, seeps into Finn’s mouth, thick with iron and sin. Finn stares at Elias. Elias stares back at him. “Did you not have fun, demon?”

“Tomorrow, we shall hunt again.” The Devil’s voice comes from Finn’s mouth. The Devil commands his hands to tangle in Elias’ hair, dragging him down into another kiss; all teeth and violence. The Devil tosses Elias aside, and grins at him. “Tomorrow, we will find more interesting prey.” Elias sits up a little straighter, his legs splayed, his back against the SUV of the murdered man.

“Tomorrow it is then, demon.” Elias smiles, his eyes travel down Finn’s body. Finn should know better than to wear such loose clothing. Elias starts humming. Finn ignores it, and walks away. It’s far harder to ignore the Devil singing in his head.

_Peace on earth and mercy mild_ _  
God and sinners reconciled_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for @logicstates12 on tumblr


	4. 4th of December: Scarf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 4th of December: Naito makes a request of Hiromu that he's not sure he's into, but he does get a new scarf out of it.

“Would you let me tie you up?” Naito’s nosing at Hiromu’s throat when he makes that request. Hiromu freezes beneath him. He’s not _scared_ by the idea of being bound, but he’s not comfortable with it. Naito pulls back, and looks at him. Hiromu glances away, not really comfortable with being under Naito’s scrutiny.

“Why?” Hiromu probably should have asked Naito, and not the wall. He doesn’t like being restrained, Naito knows that, which means him making this request is confusing, slightly uncomfortable, and almost distressing. Naito should know better. He moves off of Hiromu entirely, and lies down beside him.

“Hmm…” Naito strokes his cheek. “Why?” His hand tangles in Hiromu’s hair, and turns him to face him. “Because it’ll be pretty.” It doesn’t feel like a reasonable answer. He doesn’t like being trapped. It makes him uncomfortable. Naito’s fingers are moving in his hair, slowly, reassuringly. “I know you don’t like the idea, but,” Naito doesn’t say anything for a long time. He’s watching Hiromu carefully. Hiromu does not like the idea, but he does trust Naito. He trusts him implicitly. If he were to restrain him, he knows Naito wouldn’t take advantage of him, but the idea sparks discomfort in him. “Sorry.” Naito says suddenly, and kisses Hiromu. “It’s nothing.” Hiromu nods vaguely. He’ll think on it, but he’s not sure he’ll ever do more than consider it, especially as Naito seems to have gotten over the idea so quickly.

Naito doesn’t bring it up again, but the idea lingers in Hiromu’s head. The thought of being so very helpless, completely at Naito’s mercy, he might enjoy it, still, he’d be not _afraid_ , just uncomfortable. Probably, at least. He doesn’t like being trapped in the ring. He worries about being hurt, _broken,_ by a submission hold. Naito tying him up would be different though. Naito would take care of him. Naito wouldn’t hurt him. He can trust Naito, he does trust Naito. He’ll try it. He’ll try it once, and he’s sure if he doesn’t like it, Naito will never ask him for it again.

“You remember what you asked me a while back?” Hiromu’s lying with his head in Naito’s lap, staring at the tv, not really paying attention to the movie that’s playing, when he brings it up. Naito makes a vague noise, his fingers slowly running through Hiromu’s hair.

“I ask you a lot of things, Hiro,” Naito’s hand abandons his hair, and trails down his arm. “You wanna be more specific?”

“You wanted to tie me up,” Hiromu turns to lie on his back, and stares up at Naito.

“I did…” Naito trails off, distracted by stroking Hiromu’s face. “I told you to forget it though.”

“I haven’t.” Hiromu leans into the hand on his cheek. “I’ll try it once. If I don’t like it, we stop, right?”

“Of course!” Naito answers before Hiromu’s even finished his sentence. “You pick a word, and if you say it, _everything_ stops, okay?”

“Taichi.” Naito laughs at that, and Hiromu hides his face against Naito’s stomach.

“Taichi it is. I’ll get what we need, and we’ll do it…” He trails off, letting Hiromu pick the date.

“Tomorrow, or I’ll change my mind.” Hiromu sits up to claim a kiss from Naito’s still grinning lips.

Tomorrow comes far too early, and not soon enough. Hiromu isn’t sure if he’s excited, or afraid, either way, he’s trembling as he stands in the middle of the bedroom, waiting for Naito and his ropes. Naito presses himself to Hiromu’s back, and runs his hands over his shoulders.

“You okay, Hiro?” He starts laying kisses over them, rubbing his hands over Hiromu’s stomach. “You’re shaking, baby.” More kisses over Hiromu’s shoulders.

“I know.” Hiromu turns in Naito’s arms, and kisses him.

“Scared or excited?” Naito’s hands settle on Hiromu’s waist. Hiromu isn’t sure to be honest. It might be fear, it might be excitement. He thinks it’s probably nervousness. “You know I won’t hurt you, right?”

“I know.” Hiromu rests his forehead against Naito’s shoulder. “I just don’t like being trapped.”

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want.” Naito steps away from him, meeting his eyes.

“I have my safe word, and I trust you.” Hiromu rests his hands on Naito’s face. “You won’t hurt me, you won’t do anything I can’t handle.” Naito closes his eyes, and rests his forehead against Hiromu’s.

“Thank you,” Naito kisses him, “I’ll take care you, I promise.” Naito pulls him into a hug. “Deep breath.” Naito pecks him on the forehead. “Close your eyes.” Hiromu does as he’s asked. He breathes slow and deep. He’s _nervous_ , not afraid. “First,” an incredibly soft scarf drapes over Hiromu’s chest, the ends dangling over his shoulder blades. The scarf is tied over Hiromu’s eyes, and knotted at the back of his head. “First rope, okay?” Hiromu nods. Naito collects his arms behind his back, and starts winding the rope around them. Hiromu had promised himself he wouldn’t panic, but the moment Naito ties the first knot in the ropes around his arms, he can feel his heart speed up. “It’s okay.” Naito murmurs. His hand smoothes over Hiromu’s stomach. “If you need to, you can get out of them easy. I wouldn’t keep you bound too tight.” Hiromu nods, and wishes the scarf wasn’t over his eyes, so he could see what Naito’s doing, or at least the look in his eyes. “A little more, okay?” Another nod. “Not enough, Hiromu. Answer me,” the barest hint of a kiss brushes over Hiromu’s lips. “Tell me how you feel.”

“Scared.” Hiromu whispers.

“Scared?” Naito pulls him close, and tucks Hiromu’s head under his chin. “You want me to untie you?”

“No.” Hiromu closes his eyes behind the blindfold, and loses himself in the feeling of Naito stroking his back. Naito holds him a little tighter, and presses kisses to his hair.

“You okay?” Hiromu nods against Naito’s neck, and presses a kiss to his skin. “You gonna answer me?”

“I’m okay. It’s not a bad scared, it’s an excited scared, you know?” Hiromu rubs his cheek against Naito’s chest, the scarf around his eyes shifts a little. “You gotta sort the scarf, Naito-san, I can see.” Naito shivers against him. He’s always had a slightly odd fondness for shows of submissiveness from Hiromu at moments like this. Naito resettles the scarf over Hiromu’s eyes, and kisses his forehead.

“We good?” Naito steps away from him, his hands frame Hiromu’s face as he nods. “Okay.” Another knot, more loops, more knots. “Okay. That’s us, all done.” Naito strokes Hiromu’s cheek. He moves away, Hiromu hears his feet scuffing on the carpet. Hiromu fidgets, shifting from foot to foot. “How are you feeling?”

“Nervous.” Hiromu never bothers hiding how he feels when Naito asks him. It would only come out anyway, Naito knows how to pick up on tells Hiromu doesn’t even know he has. He’s very much an open book to Naito. “But, it’s okay.” Naito’s behind him, kissing over Hiromu’s shoulders. He pinches Hiromu’s nipples, and grinds himself against Hiromu’s ass, his cock half-hard already. “You like me like this, Naito-san?” Hiromu chuckles.

“You look good like this, baby.” Naito’s voice is rough. “I know it shouldn’t, but you tied up like this… it makes me want to do all kinds of terrible things to you.”

“Like what?” Hiromu grinds back against Naito. “You wanna throw me down on the bed and fuck me? You wanna bend me over and spank me?”

“I wanna fuck you, baby.” Naito rumbles in his ear. “Can I?” Hiromu rests his head back against Naito’s shoulder, baring his throat. Naito’s hand runs up it, and cradles his jaw. “I’m gonna lie you down, okay?” Hiromu nods, and follows Naito’s urgings. It’s awkward lying on his bound arms, and has Hiromu squirming, trying to make himself more comfortable.

“You look so pretty like this, Hiro.” Naito sounds far away, and enraptured. A light touch to Hiromu’s ankle stills his squirming. “Pretty and vulnerable.” The light touch sweeps up his shin to his knee, and on to his thigh, where Naito squeezes the muscle there. “My little Hiromu, so bold, and ungovernable.” Naito laughs softly to himself. His hand skips touching Hiromu’s cock, instead it runs over his stomach, and up further to squeeze his chest. “So, pretty, but so helpless right now.” Naito settles between Hiromu’s thighs. “I’m going to open you up, okay?”

“Okay,” Hiromu wriggles again, his fingers are going numb, but he’s not surprised by that. The ropes aren’t tight, but he’s lying on his arms, which always makes them go numb. Naito’s slick finger at his asshole surprises him. “Cold.” He kind of liked the surprise of it. Naito’s always so careful to make sure he knows what’s going to happen next when they’re together, a little surprise every now and then might be fun.

“Sorry.” Naito kisses him, and drives a finger into Hiromu without warning. Hiromu gasps, and arches as much as he can into Naito hand. Another finger works inside Hiromu, and Naito scissors them, opening Hiromu up. A third finger enters, and Naito seems less focussed on opening him up, his attention more on teasing his prostate. “That feels good, right?”

“Yes.” Hiromu hisses, as Naito takes Hiromu’s cock in hand, stroking him slowly. “Naito-san, _please_.”

“You want me to take you?” He can feel the head of Naito’s cock rubbing over his hole, teasing penetrating him. “You want me to fuck you?” Hiromu wraps his legs around Naito’s waist, and pulls him down. Naito’s cock slips down, missing his hole. “Even helpless, and bound, you’re still not restrained, hmm? Ropes are no match for my little ungovernable demon.” Naito kisses him.

“Fuck me, Naito-san.” Hiromu twists, trying to inspire Naito into fucking him. “ _Please_.” He moans in that pitch that always makes Naito do what he wants. He doesn’t use it often, because he’s worried it will lose effectiveness, but when he does, Naito is helpless.

“That was the plan.” Naito kisses him again, and thrusts into Hiromu. He sets a slow, easy pace, and litters kisses over Hiromu’s face. “You’re so tight, baby. So good, _so_ good.” His hand moves over Hiromu’s cock. “Cum for me.” He moves his hand quicker, squeezing him tighter. Hiromu whines, he wants to touch Naito, but he can’t move his arms. The blindfold, well the scarf, he doesn’t mind, but not being able to touch Naito is the worst thing, even more so than the numbness in his arms.

“Faster, Naito-san.” Hiromu digs his heels, the only things he can use to his advantage, into Naito’s back. Naito does as he asks. His hips snap against Hiromu, fucking him faster. Naito starts jerking him faster, in time with his hips. Hiromu’s breathing is heavy, almost desperate keening whines leave him as Naito keeps fucking at this almost brutal pace.

“You gonna cum for me, baby?” Naito starts lapping at Hiromu’s neck, nipping at his weakest spot, right on the little mole on his throat. With a trembling gasp, Hiromu cums. He’s lost a slight daze as Naito shifts over him, bracing himself to set to reaching his own end. Sluggishly, Hiromu squirms beneath Naito, bucking up into him, as Naito fucks him harder, chasing his own climax. Naito’s face presses against Hiromu’s neck, and he makes a low, guttural sound as he comes. For a moment, he rests on top of Hiromu, then pulls out, and rolls off.

“Was it okay?” Naito gently shifts him to lay on his side, undoing the ropes, and rubbing Hiromu’s arms.

“Eh,” Hiromu’s fingers feel tingly, and a little sore. “I didn’t like the rope.” It stopped him from doing what he loves most about sex with Naito, touching his beloved Naito-san.

“No?” Naito tugs the scarf down from Hiromu’s eyes, leaving it around his neck. It’s a pretty scarf, deep red, and so very soft. Hiromu might take to wearing it, if only to see how it’d affect Naito to see him in it in public. “I’m sorry, Hiro. It wasn’t too bad, was it? You should have told me to stop, or said your safe word.” Naito’s tone is heavy with concern and regret.

“No, it’s not that, it’s just… I just… I didn’t like not being allowed to touch you, you know?” Naito smiles at that, and pulls Hiromu into a hug.

“Thank you for trying it.” Hiromu shrugs at that, and snuggles against Naito, grinning against his collarbone, as Naito starts kissing whichever parts of him he can reach. 

“I liked the scarf though. It was fun guessing what you were gonna do next, and red is such a good colour on me.” Hiromu finally has enough feeling back in his fingers to be able to tangle his hands in Naito’s hair and kiss him. “You can use it again, just not ropes… unless you’d like me to tie you up?” Naito gives him a considering look, and gets off the bed, hauling Hiromu to his feet.

“I’ll think on it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for @hmpufnstuf on tumblr


	5. 5th of December: Jumper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 5th of December: Desperado isn't skilled in the art of seduction, he asks for help from an unlikely source.

Desperado is not good at seduction. He’s wonderful at being a drinking buddy, but he is terrible at seduction. He has a string of failed attempts at seducing a string of handsome men. His heart sets itself to men with very little concern for whether or not Desperado himself can have them.

Ibushi had been a terrible start. His heart had seen the beautiful, incomparable man and had leapt straight for him. But, Ibushi is, and probably always will be, untouchable. His heart is set towards Omega, and Omega’s is set to Ibushi, even when they were apart, their hearts beat as one. It’s beautiful, but as someone who wanted Ibushi, it was tragic.

Kushida had been his heart’s next goal. A mistake possibly even more stupid. At least Ibushi had an interest in men, but Kushida’s interest in men is solely in how he can beat them. Desperado hadn’t been able to do much in the face of that. His heart had clenched with every kick. Despite the pain in his body, nothing about those matches hurt as much as his heart.

Hiromu. His heart’s next goal is a thorny topic. Hiromu is the only one of them he’s slept with, repeatedly. But, with Hiromu this is nothing. Sex for Hiromu is like having a conversation for other people. Conversations with Hiromu is like giving a cat a wounded mouse to play with. He’s far too fond of toying with hearts, and has a whole boutique of hearts at his disposal, each slightly different, each offering him some new game. Beyond Hiromu’s own very nature, there’s the rest of the Ingobernables. Desperado despairs of his heart with regards to Hiromu. He teases it too much. He gives just enough to keep Desperado’s heart hopefully, but not enough to meet its needs. He’s a monster.

His heart has turned to a new man though, believing that he could give it what it needs. The only problem is this man is a friend. That probably makes things worse for it. He doesn’t want to ruin his friendship, so he says nothing. Playing the role of a good drinking buddy and nothing more. He is a _very_ good drinking buddy though.

“I’ve got the beers in.” Desperado sits down at the table, and gives Zack a half-smile. Zack gives the beer a suspicious look. “Don’t worry, I looked at that website told me to first. It’s clean, I promise.”

“Good man.” Zack laughs, and takes a long drink. “So, what’s the plan for the night?” Zack’s a sprawling man. He stretches himself out along the booth in the cheap bar they’re in, one arm creeping over Desperado’s shoulders. There is no plan. Desperado shrugs. Zack laughs, and drinks more of his beer.

“Just a quiet night.” He gives as an answer, and Zack nods.

“The others coming down?” He shoots Desperado a look. His heart is hopeful that the look is equally hopeful, but Desperado isn’t the sort to put stock in how he interrupts other people’s looks.

“I think it’s just us.” He smiles, and he hopes it’s charming, or at least not a partial grimace. Zack orders more beers. They settle in for the long haul.

Nothing came of that night. Nothing ever does. Zack is a good friend, and Desperado doesn’t want to lose that. Still, his heart yearns for more.

He’s been to visit Hiromu a few times, always carefully timing it to avoid those who would throw him out. He’s come here for a purpose. He’s only ever come here with a purpose. This time he’s here to discuss something. Hiromu’s asleep when he arrives. Asleep, Hiromu’s beautiful. His features are soft, delicate, and irresistible. He wakes up slowly under Desperado’s gentle caresses to his face.

“Why the fuck are you here?” Hiromu is not a subtle man, a beautiful one, but not subtle, even when he first wakes up.

“I need help.” Desperado sits in the visitor’s chair. Hiromu raises an eyebrow at him, rubbing his eyes like a sleepy kid.

“I am not a psychiatrist.” Hiromu laughs at him, and yawns. Desperado starts vaping, filling Hiromu’s hospital room with the scent of crème brulee. He’d chosen it specifically for this visit. Hiromu shoots him a look. “Fine, what help do you need?” Hiromu sits up carefully, and turns to face Desperado.

“I brought you a present.” Desperado sets the little takeaway pudding box down on the bed.

“A bribe.” Hiromu corrects him absently, opening the box. He looks up at Desperado with the most sincerely delighted expression he’s ever seen. His greatest weakness, outside of his beloved brothers, is his sweet tooth. “So, how can I help?” Hiromu settles down more comfortably.

“You lived in England for a while, right?” Desperado probably should regret this conversation, but Hiromu doesn’t seem like he’s going to mock him. He’s eating his gifted pudding, thoughtfully regarding Desperado.

“I did… I got my cool scar there.” Hiromu smiles lazily, and swipes some of the cream from the top of his pudding, and sucks it from his finger. “Why’d you ask?”

“What do they do for Christmas?” That’s the moment regret creeps in. The cogs in Hiromu’s head have clicked.

“Hmm,” he sets the little spoon down, and steeples his fingers. “Well, they watch commercials that make them cry, and listen to _Last Christmas_ a lot.”

“Not helpful, asshole.” Hiromu laughs at him.

“Brussel sprouts feature heavily too, if that helps.” He grins, looking like a mischievous little demon, all teeth, eyes, and hair.

“Hiromu,” Desperado catches Hiromu’s scarred hand, and scowls at him, “stop fucking around, and give me something I can work with.”

“It’s cold there, they like jumpers… and sequins, and puns.” Hiromu shrugs, and picks up his phone. He starts tapping at the screen. “Like this.” He flashes a picture of a jumper that appears to be nothing but sequins and wool. _Single and ready to jingle_ is emblazoned on it in vibrant, sparkling sequins. “Though, maybe not _this_ one.” Hiromu smiles at him, “I’m sure Zack will love a nice cosy jumper.” He starts eating his pudding again. “Pick him something nice, okay?”

“Thank you, darling.” Desperado stands up, and presses a kiss to the back of Hiromu’s hand, right over his scar. Hiromu rolls his eyes.

“I’d leave if I were you, Naito just let me know he was on his way.” Hiromu’s laughter echoes in Desperado’s ears as he scampers to leave the hospital room.

Clothes shopping sucks. He goes into a million shops before he finds one that he thinks might get a laugh out of Zack. He takes so long shopping, he has to take the damn bag with him. It catches a smirking Naito’s eye in the dressing room, but a quick interjection from Zack has Naito shaking his head and returning to talking with Evil and LIJ’s new Not-A-Junior Junior.

The standard plan, after a match, is to hit up a bar, then another, and another until the only person capable of still walking in a straight line is Taichi, because alcohol loves Taichi as much as he loves it. They wind up in their usual first stop bar. The Boss is holding court on a separate table, Iizuka is sitting at his side, listening intently, so perhaps it’s a strategy meeting.

“Hey, mate!” Zack’s tipsy already, and grinning. His arm is warm, and heavy over Desperado’s shoulders. “Where were you all day?” Zack pulls Desperado closer, and shakes his shoulders. Taichi manifests at the table, laden with a whisky bottle, and snacks.

“Getting his dick wet, we can only hope.” Three glasses of whisky are poured out faster than Desperado can really follow. Taichi is a man of many skills, most of them awful. “I heard a rumour you were visiting cat houses, Despy.” Of course, Taichi knows he’d visited Hiromu. Nothing even _slightly_ embarrassing escapes the all-seeing eye of Taichi.

“I like cats.” Desperado downs his whisky, and Zack barks a laugh.

“You wanna watch out, Despy,” Zack ruffles his hair, “the dickhead’ll have you if you pet his kitty.” There’s a look in his eyes, something dangerous. “Was that why he was glowering over at you?”

“Does it matter? You’ll look after Desperado won’t you, Zack?” Taichi’s sprawled over a chair, his legs splayed, his whisky glass in his hand. “Naito’s no match for your… _passion_.” Taichi laughs. Zack glowers at him.

“Yeah, fuck off, T.” He leans over and slaps Taichi’s thigh. “He’s got good thighs, doesn’t he, Despy?”

“You think my thighs are better than Despy’s?” Taichi sits a little straighter in his chair, and downs his whisky, and starts topping his glass up. Zack folds his arms over his chest, and looks defensive.

“Despy keeps his thighs hidden for a reason.” One of Zack’s hands creeps over, and squeezes Desperado’s thigh. “He’s got a much better arse than you, T.” Desperado chokes on his whisky. Zack grins at him. “It’s a fucking spectacular arse,” Zack pours more whisky into his glass, and levels Desperado with a _look_. His heart lurches at that look. “An arse so good it should win awards, a dancer’s arse.” His arm is around Desperado’s shoulders again, pulling him in tighter to Zack’s side. Desperado’s heart is singing.

They don’t leave the first stop bar. They stay and get far drunker than initially intended. Taichi eventually declares it home time, which Desperado takes as a reliable indication it’s time to get himself home. Zack agrees, and follows him out of the bar, only stumbling twice, and not managing to fall, as he’d put it, arse over tits again.

“Hey… Zack.” Desperado fidgets awkwardly, and rests his hand on Zack’s shoulder. Desperado is not a bold invader of personal space like Zack is, and this simple touch seems to make him happy. A drunk grin, as bright as the full moon spreads over Zack’s lips.

“Yeah?” Hope. There’s no doubt that in his eyes there’s a well of hope. Hope for what is a mystery, but it’s there.

“Lemme give you a ride to your hotel, eh?” Desperado’s almost as drunk as Zack, only a fool would get in his car.

“You’re seven sheets to the wind, mate.” That means literally nothing to Desperado, but makes Zack grin and giggle enthusiastically. “Your place is pretty close, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah…” Desperado finds himself nodding like an idiot, and repeating the word _yeah_ far too many times. Zack laughs again, and flings his arm around Desperado’s shoulders.

“Lead on my fine stud!”

“Stud?” That doesn’t sound like the right word, and questioning it makes Zack laugh nervously.

“Steed! Freudian slip,” another cacklingly delighted laugh from Zack.

The trip back to Desperado’s apartment is more drunken stumbling, and laughing at jokes he only half hears, and a quarter understands, but make Zack light up with joy. His heart is warm, and full, and probably going to be broken _again_.

“You can take my bed, I’ll sleep on the couch.” Desperado shoves the door to his apartment open, tosses the bag with Zack’s jumper towards the kitchen, and hopes Zack won’t comment on how empty his apartment is. Desperado isn’t the sort of man who spends a lot of time decorating, nor is he the sort to make a mess. He’s very meticulous with his living space. The one time he’d brought Hiromu back to fuck him, he’d been scandalised by the severity of the apartment. The only decoration in the living room is a gift from Hiromu. A traditional style ink painting of most of the Gun. He’s no idea if Hiromu commissioned it or painted it himself, but Desperado likes it well enough. Zack seems enthralled by it though. He walks straight up to it, and reaches out, not touching it, but his fingers hovering over the parchment.

“That’s fucking cool.” He beams over at Desperado. “I remember this night, do you?”

“Vaguely,” Desperado answers honestly. Most nights are kind of vague. It might be alcohol, it might be monotony, it might be that he has a terrible memory.

“You need to tell me where you go it, I fucking want one.” Zack throws himself onto the couch, still staring at the picture. “I’m kinda surprised you don’t have a flag up, to be honest.” Zack grins over at him, and thumps the back of the couch. “Hey, c’mere.”

“I’m gonna get us some beers, first.” Desperado heads for his kitchen, and scooping up the bag Zack’s gift in it. He’s drunk enough to have some confidence. He grabs some cold beers, and the bag, checking first that the price tag and receipt aren’t in there. Zack looks pleasantly surprised by the bag when Desperado drops it in his lap. “Christmas present.”

“Aww, Despy, you didn’t have to.” Zack pulls the contents of the bag out, and is grinning like a mad man. “Fucking brilliant!” He pulls on the jumper, and ruffles the sequins of the brussel sprouts on it. “Every day I’m brusselin’. I love a pun…” He laughs again, and looks into the bag again. “There’s another one in here… it’s got a label on it though, and I can’t read Japanese for shit.” Zack’s fussing with his jumper, wearing the biggest stupidest smile in the world.

_Despy, that’s not how you use clothes to get a date, you dumbass!_

He’s very glad Hiromu didn’t sign his name, or leave one of those stupid self-portraits, Zack might have spotted it, and that would have raised _far_ too many questions. Desperado opens the carefully wrapped parcel, and barks a laugh at the jumper inside. Black and white, with _Feliz Navi Dad_ woven into it, and another package labelled in Hiormu’s _distinct_ handwriting.

“Pass the parcel, Despy?” Zack slithers offer the couch laughing, and pawing at the parcel. Without thinking about it too much, because if he does, he’ll snatch the parcel back. Hiromu is a monster, who knows what’s in there. Zack pulls the package open, and crumples into a ball. “Despy, are you asking me out via jumper puns? Cause if you are, the answer is yes.” Zack’s rolling on the floor, laughing. Desperado looks at the jumper in the second package. _Feliz Navi Mom_ He’s going to have to Hiromu a Christmas present, a _nice_ present.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for @majorheelturn on tumblr


	6. 6th of December: Baking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 6th of December: Evil and Sanada make an attempt at making cookies - it goes about as expected.

“How much flour?” Sanada’s scowling at the scale, glowering at the numbers, which don’t mean much of anything to him. Evil glances over at him, he’s holding a wooden spoon in one hand, and stirring the mixture in the pan on the stove slowly.

“Check the recipe.” Sanada scowls over at him, and stomps to the recipe. Cups. This flour is measured in cups. They don’t have measuring cups. Sanada is filled with the incredible urge to throw the whole damn thing at the wall. Making cookies should not be this difficult. Sure, Hiromu’s going to be delighted with a plate of gingerbread snowmen, but they could buy them unfrosted, and ice them themselves. The only problem is both Bushi, and more importantly Hiromu would know. Naito will almost anything you set in front of him. Shingo is a little pickier, but it really is only a little pickier. He’d eat the damn store-bought cookies. Homemade cookies taste of love though, at least that’s what Hiromu will say, as he snuggles up to Sanada with his prettiest little smile on his face, so they have to make these cookies from scratch.

“We don’t have cups, asshole.” Sanada takes a deep breath, and pulls his phone from his pocket. He’ll find a converter online, he’ll make this work. Hiro will be so happy with homemade cookies. “I’ve got it though.” Sanada wanders over to Evil, and drops a kiss to the exposed back of his neck.

“Good, this is almost ready to be mixed with it.” Evil glances over his shoulder, and laughs. “How are you covered in flour, already?”

“Look, flour is one of us.” Sanada heads back to the scales, converter in hand, ready to get the flour done. Flour is very much ungovernable, but it’s at least weighed. Evil starts mixing the liquid and flour. The goop is eventually turned into dough, wrapped in some plastic, and stuck in the fridge.

Chill for an hour is the best part of the recipe as far as Sanada is concerned. He flops onto the couch, and flicks through the menu on the TV. The best/worst thing about living with his brothers is the diverse selection of weird stuff marked watch later on their TV. Everything from baseball games to make-over shows to horror movies are all saved. Sanada keeps scrolling through the list, dismissing things based on them looking long or boring.

“Hey, go back. I’ve not seen that one yet.” Evil scoops Sanada’s head up, and sits down, settling Sanada’s head in his lap. He’s not in a hurry to watch what appears to be a generic horror movie. It’s the sort of thing Evil and Hiromu would sit and watch gleefully, and then end up ignoring in favour of making out on the couch. The movie is marked as played, so it probably was already ignored by Evil, in favour of the recently returned home Hiromu. The movie starts playing, and Evil’s fingers run slowly through Sanada’s hair.

“Did you watch this with Hiro?” Sanada looks up at him, Evil’s staring at the TV screen.

“No, he watched it with Shingo. I think he’s still trying to get to know Hiro, you know?” Evil smiles slightly, and bops Sanada’s nose. “It’s not like getting to know Hiro is hard, so I’ve no idea how he can _still_ be getting to know him, but I’m not complaining. I never pay attention to movies when I watch them with Hiro.”

“He’s distracting.” Sanada chuckles, and nips at Evil’s finger as it trails over his lips.

“You’re all distracting.” Evil starts mapping Sanada’s face, running down his nose, over his eyebrows, along his cheeks. “Stupid, handsome Ingobernables.” Evil laughs. Sanada smiles, and presses a kiss to Evil’s stomach.

“Watch your terrible movie.” He’s not a big fan of horror movies, but he’ll watch them when he’s sprawled over the couch like this. He’s ignored countless horror movies whilst cuddling one of his brothers. He shifts, and turns over, so his face is turned to Evil’s stomach. Evil glances down at him, and Sanada tries to pull an innocent expression. It probably falls short, but Evil’s already turned back to the TV. Sanada considers Evil’s stomach, and then down to a more interesting part of Evil’s body. Sweat pants are a wonderful thing, stretching over Evil’s groin, barely discussing what’s in there. Sanada dives his hand into Evil’s pants, and wraps his fingers around Evil’s length. He starts stroking Evil slowly. He pulls his cock free, tired of the elastic restricting his access. He takes Evil’s cock into his mouth, and suckles on the head. Evil glances down at him, a slight smile is on his lips.

“I’m doomed to never see this movie, aren’t I?” One of Evil’s hands slide into Sanada’s hair, curving around his skull. “I can hear you telling me to keep watching my shitty movie, even with your mouth full.” Sanada smirks around Evil’s cock, and starts bobbing his head. He pulls back entirely, and takes a deep breath, then swallows Evil’s cock to the root. He moves his head faster, pressing his tongue against the vein on the underside of Evil’s cock. “Fuck, faster.” Sanada does as he’s asked. He moves his head faster, sucking harder, trying to get Evil off. He groans, and takes a firmer hold on Sanada’s head. He moves Sanada’s head, fucking his mouth, his hips thrusting up into Sanada’s throat. Evil’s close. His breathing is fast, and heavy. His fingers dig into Sanada’s head. He cums with a low groan. Sanada lets Evil’s spent cock fall from his mouth, and he’s pulled up into a kiss. Evil chases his cum from Sanada’s mouth. He breaks the kiss with a smile, and licks his lips. Evil rests his head against the back of the couch, gazing down at Sanada fondly.

“We should get on with those cookies.” Evil stretches, and Sanada gropes about for the remote, so he can pause the movie.

“You’re never going to get this movie watched, you know.” Sanada chuckles as he stands, and offers Evil a hand, hauling him to his feet. Evil nods miserably

“I’ll see if Shingo wants to watch it again later. We don’t spend enough time together.” He mutters, and takes the dough from the fridge. Sanada rolls the dough, and Evil cuts out the snowmen. They repeat the process until all of the dough is used up. They don’t bother going back to the movie. It won’t take long for the cookies to cook, and cool.

They end up washing, drying, and putting the used crockery away. Not the most exciting use of their time, but definitely the one that’s going to annoy Bushi the least. Evil’s phone starts ringing before they can start icing the cookies. He flashes his phone at Sanada. Hiromu’s number. Evil shoots Sanada an awkward look.

“Make the frosting, will you?” Evil smiles nervously, and leaves Sanada alone in the kitchen. There is no recipe for frosting. He does his best. It goes badly.

“Sanada… did you jerk off onto the cookies?” Evil’s snickering when he comes back, gesturing to the few cookies he’s frosted. The icing is too thin, he knows that, and he also knows that it looks like they’ve been the bottoms in a bukkake party.

“Shut up.” Evil laughs at him, and Sanada flicks a spoon of icing at Evil. He doesn’t seem to mind, instead he swipes his finger through the frosting on his shirt, and sucks it off.

“It’s not my fault you mixed the icing too thin.” Evil laughs again, and takes the bowl of too thin icing. “I’ll make it.” He assures Sanada, and grabs one of the bukkake cookies. “At least this tastes good.”

Icing attempt number two goes much better. The little gingerbread snowmen are white, they have little black sugar chip eyes, and carefully piped scarves. There’s a very valiant attempt at capturing everyone in cookie snowman form made. Sanada has set the little Milano cookie aside. He’ll delivery it, the nice bottle of wine he has stashed, and himself, to Milano later. Evil presses against his back, holding his phone in front of them, over the cookies.

“No filters.” Sanada plucks the phone from Evil’s hands, and snaps a picture of the little snowman cookie army.

“How will Hiro know they’re from us, if we don’t use the right filters?” Evil’s tone is half laughter, and half a sulk. Sanada raises the phone up a little, and switches to the front camera, taking a picture of Evil and himself.

“I think he’ll get it.” Sanada turns in Evil’s arms, and slides his phone into his pocket. “You wanna finish that movie?” Evil works hand between them, and cups Sanada’s cock.

“Sounds like a plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for an anon on Tumblr


	7. 7th of December: Icicles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 7th of December: Dean teases Seth, right up to the point Seth breaks.

Dean is on a mission. He’s hunting out the best, longest icicle he can find. He has intentions for this icicle once it’s located. It’s going to be wonderful prank. At least until Seth punches him, because Seth will punch him, but first he needs to find his perfect icicle.

It’s dangling down from a sign over the entrance to the arena. Long, perfectly clear, thick, slightly dripping. The perfect icy shirt invader. Dean snaps it from its spot, and keeps a firm hold of it, waiting for his prey.

Seth arrives, stamping his feet, and sweeping snow from his shoulders. He starts unwinding his scarf from around his neck, leaving him vulnerable to attack. Dean makes his move. Quick and quiet, like a ninja. He slips the icicle down the back of Seth’s shirt. He screeches, clawing at his back, as he shoots Dean a horrified look. Dean’s doubled over laughing hysterically.

“You asshole!” He lunges at Dean, and slips on the wet floor, landing flat on his ass, making Dean laugh even more. Seth slithers across the ground, clawing at Dean’s leg. “You god damn asshole.” Dean keeps laughing, right until Seth’s fingers sneak their way up under his shirt, and skitter over his ribs.

“How are your fingers _so_ cold?” Dean crows, and Seth’s braying cackle echoes around the little corridor they’re in.

“My fingers are cold, because some asshole put an icicle down my shirt.” Seth pins his shoulders to the floor, and glowers down at him. Dean grins up at him.

“You want me to find this asshole for you?” Dean settles his hands on Seth’s waist. Seth rolls his eyes, and leans down.

“Found him.” Seth kisses him, and gets off with a grin. Seth offers him a hand, and hauls Dean to his feet. “And if he tries that again, he’s going to regret it.”

At the next arena, Dean tries, and succeeds at it again. Once more, Seth screeches, and flails, and falls flat on his ass. Again, Seth tells him if he does it again, he’ll regret it.

Third arena, third icicle, third round of screechy, flailing falling.

“Third strike, Dean.” Seth sounds livid, as he takes Dean’s hand, and lets him haul him off the floor. “I’m getting my revenge, I’m warning you now.” Dean nods absently, and draws Seth into a kiss. He’s not afraid of revenge from Seth. He’s too forgetful to be committed to such a thing.

That night in bed, Seth seems a _little_ annoyed about the whole icicles down the shirt thing. He flops down, and tugs the blankets up over himself. Dean lies down behind him, and cuddles Seth close, pressing kisses his shoulder.

“You’re not mad, are you?” Seth doesn’t answer, his shoulder jerks, and he more determinedly pulls the comforter up under his chin.

“Go to sleep.” Seth sounds mad. Dean kisses his shoulder again. Seth shrugs it off, and moves further away. Dean chases him, pressing another kiss to his shoulder. Seth moves once more, over estimates how much bed he has, and falls on the floor. Dean dissolves into laughter, and settles down on his side of the bed, ignoring Seth’s grumbling as he gets back in bed, and settles down to sleep.

“Don’t be mad, baby.” Dean reaches out, stroking Seth’s shoulder.

“I’m not mad. Go to sleep.”

“You know…” Dean moves closer, and catches Seth’s waist before he can squirm away. “You shouldn’t go to sleep angry.” He kisses the crown of Seth’s head, and feels him relax.

“Fine, fine,” Seth turns in his arms, and kisses the tip of his nose. “I’m not mad.” He smiles brightly, and kisses Dean properly. “Now go to sleep, I’m cold, tired, and sore.” Dean presses their foreheads together for a moment, and closes his eyes, confident his icicle-based assaults have been forgiven.

“ _Argh_!” Dean wakes up with a scream. Seth’s standing over him, fully dressed, and cackling.

“That’s what you get, Ambrose.” Seth pounces on him, and pins him to the bed. “Now, you’re forgiven.” He grins down at Dean, and then leans down for a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for @beg-for-it-black on tumblr


	8. 8th of December: Mistletoe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 8th of December: Trish has been Mickie's roommate long enough for Mickie to have given up any hope.

You don’t get to choose your roommate in college. It hadn’t come as a shock. Mickie had known that full well, when she’d come to her assigned room. However, looking back, if she could have chosen, she’d have picked _literally_ anyone but Trish. At first, it’d been great. Trish is sweet, bubbly, funny, kind, charming, and a literal goddess. The problem is: how is one, _slightly_ awkward, lesbian supposed to live with an actual deity?

With great difficulty is the answer.

Smiling as she talks about the latest man, she has a crush on, offering kind support and a crucial opinions on date outfits – the actual worst thing in the world. _The red dress looks great Trish, no it doesn’t make your ass look fat, it frames it perfectly_. It’s not Trish’s fault. She sees Mickie as her awkward, goofy, guitar strumming, plaid shirt and daisy duke wearing roomie, not a potential partner. Sure, they sometimes snuggle up in Trish’s bed, with a tub of ice cream and some Hallmark channel movie playing, as Trish bemoans breaking up with whichever asshole wasn’t the one this time, but that’s just a girl-friends activity, not a girlfriends one.

Once, and it was only once because Mickie had blurted her coming out speech out in their room afterwards, Trish had called her her girlfriend. With ugly tears, and too much snot to be attractive, Mickie had asked her not to call her that again, and Trish, an actual angel, with tears artfully rolling down her cheeks, had pulled her into a warm hug and promised she’d never met to upset or offend Mickie, and that she’d _never_ do that again. It’s _bestie_ now. _This is Mickie, my bestie_. An improvement in all the ways Mickie doesn’t want it, but accepts that that’s the way it is. Trish is her dream woman, and as seems to be the way of her dreams, unobtainable.

“Hey, Micks? You home?” Trish sounds harried as she calls from the hallway outside their room. An odd thud, then the sound of Trish, literal angel, cursing up a storm. “Mickie! Come and help me!” Mickie grabs the nearest shirt, and hauls ass out of bed, stuffing her feet into her slippers, and scuffling to the door.

“You’re a tree now?” On the other side of the door is nothing but spikey green branches, and the barest hint of a red Santa hat.

“Ha-ha, take a hold of this thing for me, will you?” Mickie tugs her sleeve down over her hand, and does as she’s asked. “I’m gonna run to my car, and get the rest of the stuff, okay?” Mickie can’t see Trish through this spikey green menace, but she can hear the sound of her heels on the floor.

“Okay,” Mickie shrugs, and shuffles the tree into their room. “I guess we’re having a real tree this year.” She props the tree against a wall, and starts gathering the scattered textbooks, and clothes from the floor, trying to find a place to shove them, longing to go back to her bed.

“Alright, Miss James! It’s time for some festive spirit up in this bitch!”, Trish, and what looks like the entire Walmart Christmas aisle come striding in through the door. “You ready to get your sleigh on?”

“Please stop that.” Mickie rubs her temples, and starts rooting through her clothes, pulling on something warmer than her pyjamas. Trish grins at her, and shakes her bags.

“Where is your Christmas spirit, Micks?” Trish throws a Santa hat at her. “C’mon, I’ve got eggnog, and all the tinsel I could carry.”

It takes them all day to get the room decorated to Trish’s satisfaction. Then, she starts on decorating herself. There’s a dorm Christmas party tonight, and Trish _always_ makes an impact at those. She makes Mickie promise to come, and Mickie isn’t good at disappointing Trish.

The Christmas dorm party is heaving when Mickie arrives, late because of her gig playing her guitar in a local coffee shop. Like a deer in the headlights, Mickie freezes when Trish blocks the living room doorway, and pulls her into the party. Drunk Trish grins at her, and points up.

“Oh, lookie!” She pouts. Her lips sparkle in the low light, the gloss on them is a really nice shade, it might suit Mickie, she’ll have to ask to borrow it.

“Yeah, look at that, mistletoe.” Mickie presses a kiss to Trish’s cheek, and slips past her, into the party. She finds a quiet corner, and tries to hide in the pattern of the wallpaper. When her hiding spot is rumbled, by some drunk guy who spends ten minutes hemming her in, trying to hit on her, Mickie calls it a night.

She heads home, and goes straight to bed. Another party, another bust. She pulls her comforter over her head, and falls asleep.

“Hey,” a sharp finger digs into Mickie’s side, jolting her from her sleep. “Why didn’t you kiss me properly?” Trish, her eye make-up smeared, her pretty lip gloss is gone, her carefully styled hair is an utter mess. She suddenly brandishes a sprig of mistletoe. “Kiss me properly.”

“Trish, you’re drunk as fuck.” Mickie sits up, and carefully sneaks around Trish, helping her to her feet. “Let’s get you to bathroom, and get all this off.”

“That’s a _good_ idea.” Trish pulls her sparkly top off, and flings it over her shoulder. When she starts on her flies, Mickie garbs her wrists, and more firmly leads her the bathroom.

“That was not the off I was talking about.” Mickie starts rooting through the cabinet, trying to find the make-up wipes.

“Do you like my bra?” Drunk Trish asks, and Mickie’s attention snaps to her. She’s sitting on the toilet lid, unbuckling her killer heels. “Isn’t it jolly?” She sits up straighter, and jingles the bell on the gore. “There’s one on the panties too.” She laughs, and Mickie rolls her eyes. She’s found the pads Trish likes.

“That’s nice, Trish. Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?” Trish looks up at her, the smudgy mess of her make-up looks awfully like she was crying.

“Why didn’t you kiss me properly?” Trish makes an uncoordinated garb for the make-up pad. The sprig of mistletoe is brandished again. “I wanted you to kiss me properly.” She’s pouting, and stabs Mickie in the cheek with the mistletoe.

“Trish, that’s the alcohol talking.” Mickie swipes the pad over one of Trish’s smeared panda eyes.

“Shut up, no it’s not.” She’s pouting again. “I’ve been trying since Halloween _last year_ to get a kiss from you!” Trish pouts, and snatches the pad from Mickie. “You’re like three million times harder to seduce than any dumb guy! Dumb, pretty, talented Mickie, and her refusal to notice me. I could throw myself at you butt-naked and,” Mickie cuts her off with a kiss on her lips. She pulls away quickly, and starts cleaning the other eye. “That wasn’t a proper kiss.” Trish mutters, a pout in her tone.

“Yeah, well, whatever.” Mickie swipes the last of the make-up. “I’m going to bed, don’t die.”

“Mickie, wait.” Trish staggers to her feet, tripping over her heels, and colliding with Mickie. “I’m a bit drunk, but you can ask anyone, I beat the shit out of that guy who was harassing you,” she gives Mickie a smile, a teary small smile. “Then, when I realised you were gone, I cried in the bathroom, and drank vodka until I puked, because I didn’t get my kiss, and you didn’t get to see me avenge my fair maiden’s honour.” Mickie laughs at that, nervously looking away. Trish holds her sprig of mistletoe over their heads. “Please, can I have a kiss?” Mickie slides a hand into her messy, tangled hair, and gives her a _proper_ kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for @flickkick on tumblr


	9. 9th of December: Invitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 9th of December: Zack receives an invitation to The Boss' room.

Minoru Suzuki is not the kind of man who gives praise. He is the kind of man who inclines his head, almost imperceptibly, and gives the barest hint of an expression lacking in malice or violent intent. Beating The Boss and Iizuka, by beating Iizuka doesn’t prove anything, but there’s something in The Boss’ eye when holds his fist out to Zack. Not warmth, or approval, but acceptance. He accepts that Zack has done well.

“Are you okay?” Taka asks once they’re away from the cameras, and the others. Zack grins at him. He’s better than okay. He’s on top of the World. They beat The Boss, by proxy, but still. He and Taichi _beat_ The Boss.

“I’m good.” Zack grins, and hugs Taka, then Taichi, and a still slightly distraught Desperado. Zack holds that hug a little longer, and a little tighter.

“The Boss has invited you to his room.” Desperado tells him, and squeezes Zack tighter.

“Good invitation, or bad invitation?” Zack unlaces Desperado’s mask, and pulls it off. He throws it towards a bench behind Desperado, and kisses him. Desperado melts against him. Gentle, thorough kisses always melt Desperado. His hands slide into Zack’s hair, tugging on it, holding him close.

“It’s an invitation from The Boss, Zack.” Desperado steps away from him, and gives him that one smile that makes Zack want to pin him to the nearest surface and ravage him. “He wants you there in an hour.” Desperado collects his mask, and stuffs it into his pocket. “Oh! Your room key,” Desperado tosses him a key, and picks up his bag. “You want me to…” He trails off, gesturing towards Zack’s bags.

“I got it, babe.” He smiles, and grabs his stuff. “I should shower before I go see The Boss.” Desperado nods, and leaves him alone.

He’s never been invited to The Boss’ room before. He’s heard about it from Desperado, who is The Boss’ usually pick for these matters. Nothing but a conversation. At least that’s what Desperado says, he’s always a little more _vigorous_ after he’s been called to see The Boss. On mornings after those nights, Zack’s limping.

“Zack,” Suzuki greets him with nothing but a sharp statement of his name. Suzuki is sitting on a chair, sipping at a glass of whisky. “Sit down.” Zack nods, and as does as he’s asked. He perches on the edge of the bed, watching Suzuki carefully. “You did well, but not well enough.” Suzuki shifts in his chair, planning his feet on the ground.

“Next time,” he laughs, “I’ll get you next time, Boss.” Zack know he has the biggest, goofiest smile on his face.

“Keep trying.” Suzuki laughs. He drains his whisky. “Refill.” Zack’s on his feet before he even thinks about it. The bottle is on the table beside Suzuki’s chair, it would be easier for Suzuki to fill it himself, but there’s rules in The Gun. Suzuki does not pour his own drinks. With the glass refilled, Suzuki takes a sip. “Sit.” He nods his head towards the floor. Zack does as he’s told. He sits on the ground, and crosses his legs.

“You’re not pissed we beat you, are you, Boss?” Zack asks the question, staring up at Suzuki.

“You beat Iizuka, not me.” Suzuki sips at his whisky, and gives Zack a smile that’s full of knives. “Keep trying, and maybe one day you’ll beat me.” Suzuki laughs.

“That’s the dream.” Zack shrugs, and stares up at Suzuki. There’s always a hint of adoration inside Zack when he looks at Suzuki. This man is everything he wants to be. Inscrutable, intimidating, impressive. He loves and admires this fearsome man.

“Keep trying.” Suzuki drains his glass, and reaches out towards Zack. “Come here.” Zack moves closer. “This is a job I usually entrust to your other half.” Suzuki draws Zack closer still, and pulls his cock free from his sweat pants. 

“Taka?” Zack laughs, and takes Suzuki’s length into his hand, stroking him slowly. He moves closer still, and takes the tip into his mouth. He runs his tongue around the head of Suzuki’s cock, and then lets it drop from his mouth, and licks up the length. Absently, almost, Zack repeats the process, licking up the length, then suckling on the head.

“Get on with it.” Suzuki laughs, and taps the back of Zack’s head. Zack nods absently, and nips on Suzuki’s foreskin, only to take the length into his mouth fully. He sets to work on sucking Suzuki’s cock, bobbing his head up and down, his tongue pressed to the thick vein on the underside. Suzuki makes a satisfied noise, and spreads his legs a little further apart. His hands rest on Zack’s head, sharp little points of mild pain from where they dig in a little too firmly. “I’m gonna fuck you.” Zack lets Suzuki move his head, letting him fuck his throat. Suzuki has a tight grip on his hair, different to Desperado’s but tight all the same. Zack lets his eyes close, and his mind wanders, thinking over what he might have for breakfast, or if Desperado will want to fuck when he gets to their room. “Look at me.” Suzuki’s voice is always a rough growl, but right now there’s an edge to it he’s never heard. His hips stutter, driving deeper and deeper into Zack’s throat. Suzuki’s cum is far less bitter than Zack had expected. Habit has Zack swallowing, Desperado always likes him to swallow his cum.

“How’d I do?” Zack asks, he knows he sounds cocky, and Suzuki looks down at him, his lips vaguely quirk up at the ends.

“Acceptable.” His foot pushes Zack away. “Keep trying, hmm?” He gets up, and wipes his hand over his mouth. “Keep trying.” Suzuki inclines his head, almost imperceptibly, and give the barest hint of an expression that lacks malice, or violence. “Despy’s waiting, say hi for me.”

“Thanks, Boss.” Zack gives Suzuki a grin, and heads for his and Desperado’s room. He’s half-hard, and in a great mood. It’s not every day he manages to please The Boss twice in a row.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for an anon on tumblr


	10. 10th of December: Fireplace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 10th of December: Sanada pay a visit to Milano after he and Evil's victory in the World Tag League.

“I see congratulations are in order.” Milano’s sitting on his couch, his back turned to the door when Sanada comes in.

“Yeah,” Sanada drapes himself over Milano’s shoulders, meeting his eyes in the mirror over the fireplace with a smile. “You weren’t there?”

“And who would keep your tearaway little brother from climbing the walls if I was there too, hmm?” Milano rests his hands on Sanada’s forearms, and squeezes. “He sends his love, by the way.”

“Don’t lie,” Sanada steps away. The mirror’s reflection shows him taking some glasses from the cabinet in the corner of Milano’s living room. “Hiromu doesn’t send love, he sends overly enthusiastic kisses, and a bottle of wine.” Sanada comes back over, setting the glasses on the table by the very nice bottle of red Hiromu had gifted Milano on his way out of the LIJ apartment.

“Hmm… still, he sends it with love.” Milano reaches out, and snags the hem of Sanada’s sweater. “Come here, let me give you your kiss from your little brother.”

“ _Kisses_ ,” Sanada settles down on the couch by Milano, and smiles at him. “I know Hiro, he’ll have sent lots.”

“True,” Milano rests a hand on Sanada’s cheek, “Hiromu is an enthusiastic, and generous soul when it comes to sharing kisses.” Not that he’s actually kissed Hiromu, but he has witnessed the grinning little demon of a man kiss each one of his brothers with gleeful abandon.

“Isn’t he though.” Sanada rubs his cheek against Milano’s palm, and leans in for his first kiss. Light and teasing, a fine starter kiss, over before it’s really begun. “So, has this breathed enough?” He jerks his head towards the wine on the table.

“Eager to see if all those _wine tastings_ you’ve taken Hiromu on have paid off?” Milano laughs to himself, and sits up, pouring out two glasses. He takes a sniff, and is pleased with the aroma. If nothing else, Sanada has been a good teacher to his little brother. A better one that Milano has been for Sanada, as he’s drained half of his glass already. “Slow down, there’s a whole bottle.” He rests his hand on Sanada’s wrist, not bothering to tamper down his satisfied grin when Sanada bows his head slightly in contrition.

“Sorry, I’m just…” he trails off, fidgeting slightly.

“Excited by your victory, or annoyed that The Bucks have inserted themselves in your match?”

“We’re not scared of them.” Sanada snaps, pouting almost. His age, and cool veneer, always seems to fall away with Milano, leaving him a wide-eyed, vulnerable twink of a man, as he was in his youth.

“I know, I know.” Milano trails his hand up Sanada’s forearm, and squeezes his bicep. Sanada flexes just a little, making his muscle ripple under Milano’s hand. “Still, you seem,” he draws Sanada down into another kiss. His hands are in Sanada’s hair, combing through it slowly, kissing him deeply, drawing a low moan from Sanada. He breaks the kiss with a sweet little smile on his face. Milano takes a sip of his wine, and presses his lips to Sanada’s, the wine dribbles between them, wasting a little seems acceptable when he gets to taste the dry, fruitiness mixed with the flavour of Sanada. Both of Sanada’s hands tentatively run up into Milano’s hair, not messing it up, but carefully petting it. Milano parts from Sanada, and cradles his cheek. “You seem filled with energy, Seiya.” Sanada considers him thoughtfully.

“Maybe a little.” Sanada picks his wine up, and finishes what’s left in it.

“Go, put on a show for this old fox.” Milano nods his head towards the wingback chair that’s between the couch and the fireplace. “Go on.” Sanada nods, and gets to his feet. He perches on the edge of the wingback chair, looking almost nervous. He flops back into the chair, his legs spread wide. Milano sips at his wine, watching the show with expectation. The light from flickering flames of the fire catch in the blond of Sanada’s hair, and his increasingly thick and long beard. He should, perhaps, encourage Sanada to trim that. It’s verging on unseemly. Sanada trails his hands down his chest, and pulls his sweater up, exposing his stomach, and the belt around the waistband of his pants. He unbuckles it slowly, pulling it from the loops, then he coils it around itself, and sets it down on the floor. He unbuttons his flies, and splays them open. Sanada looks up at Milano, and rubs his hands over his stomach, slowly thrusting his hips up aimlessly.

“Did I make you proud tonight?” Sanada asks, hiking his shirt up further, baring his fine pectoral muscles, and his peaking nipples.

“Of course.” Milano smiles at him, and settles himself comfortably on the couch, moving a little to get a better view of Sanada’s sprawling form.

“I was a little,” he licks his lips, and smiles, _almost_ , shyly at Milano, “upset when I saw you weren’t there.”

“Like I said, someone had to keep an eye on Hiromu.” Milano chuckles, and Sanada, in a fit of childishness, pokes his tongue out, and sits up to pull his sweater over his head, and toss it at Milano.

“Hiro’s a big boy.” Sanada rubs his hands over his chest, pressing his pecs together for a moment, then pinching his nipples. “I’m offended that you’d choose him over me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Milano finds himself folding the sweater out of habit. “This is nice,” Milano fingers the tight knit of the taupe sweater thoughtfully, “did Bushi pick it out for you?” Sanada laughs at that, but nods. “He’s got good taste.” Milano pets the sweater absently, vaguely considering asking Bushi where he bought it.

“We talked enough about my brothers tonight,” Sanada pulls his pants, and boxers down in one quick swoop, “pay attention to me.” There’s little reason to argue with his boy there. He’s naked, half-hard, and fully on display. There’s nothing in the room worthier of attention that Sanada right now.

“Well, give me something to pay attention to then, boy.” Milano’s voice takes on a commanding tone, one that visibly affects Sanada; a shiver runs through him, and his cock gives a slight twitch. He licks his palm, and starts stroking himself, his hips jerk up to meet his hand, matching his own steady pace. His cock hardens fully, and slowly, the tip starts to leak. Sanada’s thumb rubs over the head, smearing his precum along his length. “A good start.” Milano takes a drink, and shifts just a little. It’s a very good start, one his cock is beginning to get interested in. Sanada nods absently, and spreads his legs a little more, scooting down in the chair so his ass is almost hanging off the edge, and planting his feet a little more firmly. He sucks on a couple of his fingers, and pulls them from his mouth with a pop. He eases one inside himself, making a deep, rumbling moan. Milano shifts again on the couch, and takes a sip of his wine. His cock is getting a lot more interested in this show.

“This better?” Sanada’s voice is somewhere between a growl and a rumble, low and sensuous. Two of his fingers are working inside him, the hand on his cock is moving faster. In the light of the fire, Sanada’s skin looks even more golden, the light layer of sweat on his chest shimmering in the dancing flames. Milano finally concedes, and undoes his fly, releasing some of the pressure on his hardening cock. Sanada’s hand speeds, squeezing his cock, his chest heaving, his gaze burning into Milano. His eyes fall half-closed, but don’t move from Milano’s as he gets closer, and closer to his end. Then he cums. A garbled noise that might be Milano’s name leaves his lips, his body shivering with pleasure as his hips pump up into his hand. His cum stands out on his skin, a stark white against the gold. He trails a finger through it, and offers it out to Milano for a second, only to lick it clean himself.

“You’re feeling calmer now?” Milano asks, his tone gentle and mild, as though his own cock wasn’t all but aching with the need to be buried inside his boy. Sanada nods.

“Did I make you proud, my fox?” His voice is a low purr, content and sated. Milano will wait to take him. He prefers to take Sanada when he’s fully invested in what’s going on, right now he needs to bask in the afterglow of his orgasm. Milano’s own can wait. He holds a hand out to Sanada, and gives him an approving smile.

“Of course, now come here and have some more wine. Once you catch your breath, we’ll have some fun together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for @sortofgetit on tumblr


	11. 11th of December: Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 11th of December: A single drop of red in a vast ocean doesn't make much of a difference.

Tama has always liked hot springs. Late at night, when the last of the old men in towels, and their little bottles of warm sake have cleared out, the hot spring is the best place to be. A swimming pool is better, but that’s just because there’s more space. The ocean is the best of all, but he’ll take what he can get when it comes to bodies of water to lie about in.   
He has an affinity for it. He loves the way water moves. He loves the way it can adapt. If it’s too cold, then the water is ice. If it’s too hot, then it’s steam. Water might change its form, but it is always there. He’s the water of Bullet Club. Fluid out of preference, but when he has to be, he’s as hard and cold as ice, or as ephemeral and untouchable as steam. Underestimating Tama comes with the same risks as underestimating water. People should beware the depths.   
He’s lying on his back, his hair floating around him, staring up at the sky. Snow is falling; fat, fluffy flakes tumbling down, landing around the hot spring, avoiding the water as there’s some manner of awning over the water. Tama’s stashed a bottle of beer in the snow to keep it cool. He’s here to think, to plan out what his next step. He’s not sure on what the plan is, but that’s because there’s not really any concrete ideas. The ideas he has are still steam, not yet formed into water, or solidified into ice. He’ll form them into something soon, but first he needs to decide how much of a leader the new one is. Jay doesn’t feel much like one yet, but it’s hard to follow a child. He’s like a drop of blood in the ocean, swallowed up and dissipated into nothingness.   
“I knew you’d be here.” A drop of red in his water. Tama lets a smile creep over his lips. A single drop of blood in the whole, vast ocean that is Tama.   
“I’m hard to miss.” Tama laughs, trailing his hand down alongside his body, and thrusting his hips up into the air. He hears Jay trip on a rock.   
“Yeah, yeah.” He can feel the water rippling as Jay gets into the hot spring. Tama doesn’t move. He can just see Jay curling into himself, like he’s trying to take up as little space as possible. A tiny drop of red in a vast ocean.  
“You gotta be bigger if you wanna rule Bullet Club, you know.” He stretches his arms out, and finally sits up, taking up an entire side of the hot spring, his arms draped over the side, his legs floating in front of him. “You can’t be leading curled up like a fucking armadillo.” Jay looks awkward, but straightens out, and settles back more comfortably. “Better.” Jay nods. He needs to be more than a drop of blood in the ocean, he needs to be a flood if he wants to be taken seriously.   
“I’m gonna beat Okada, you know.”  
“You thought you were gonna beat Tanahashi last year.” Tama laughs, and grabs his beer from the snow he’d left it in.   
“I’m going to beat Okada.” Jay sounds as determined as he ever does. The Kiwi accent is not intimidating.   
“Mhmm.” Tama sips at his beer. “You do that, and I’ll be impressed.” Jay scowls at him. Tama laughs.   
“You gonna retain, right?” Jay’s fidgeting. Tama smirks at him. Jay sighs, and shoves his hand back through his hair. He looks like a dumb kid, gnawing on his lips, and squirming. Tama rolls his eyes.   
“Retaining isn’t the point,” Tama leans his head back, and stares up at the sky some more. “Winning isn’t important, beating people is important.” Tama smirks at Jay again. Jay’s staring. “You can’t just be a drop in the ocean, Jay.”  
“I get it.” He looks away. He doesn’t. Tama laughs. He doesn’t understand at all. He’s gonna pull some bullshit, and Tama will pretend to be impressed. “I wonder if you get me, Tama?”   
“Oh?” Tama laughs, and drains his beer. “You think I don’t breathe with The Switchblade?” He laughs again, and shakes his drying hair. “I breathe as much anyone else in Bullet Club, Jay.” A pinched look crosses Jay’s face.   
“You know, I’m gonna win, and then I’m gonna beat Kenny.” Jay gets up, and out of the water with a little curse. A single drop of blood lands in the water. Quickly, it disappears, lost in the vastness of the hot spring.   
A single drop of red.  
Tama lies back in the water, and lets himself breathe with the water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for @tranquilotimebomb on tumblr


	12. 12th of December: Wrapping Paper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 12th of December: Zack needs a cornerman in an unexpected fight with wrapping paper.

Desperado is certain he should be thanking, or perhaps blaming, Hiromu, and very probably Naito, for this. Queueing sucks. Even with Zack, queueing still sucks. Zack is babbling about something, and Desperado isn’t listening at all. He’s focussing on Zack’s hand in his, and the way Zack keeps leaning in closer to say things he’s not listening to into his ear. When he leans in close, Desperado can smell his aftershave. It’s nice. He’s no idea what it is, but it’s nice.

“So, I think I’m done here.” Zack says once they finish up with the cashier. “Unless you wanna get something for anyone?”

“I guess… I owe Hiromu something.” Desperado mutters, and Zack shoots him a look. It’s heavily judgemental.

“Hiromu?” Zack steps away from him. “Hiromu Takahashi? The guy you have repeatedly claimed to _love_?” Desperado rolls his eyes, and takes a hold of Zack’s hand.

“Yes,” Desperado laces their fingers together. “He’s a fucking monster though, and I’ve had the sense to set my heart to someone less awful.”

“Less awful?” Zack laughs, and squeezes his fingers.

“Different awful, then.” Desperado shrugs. “Fuck it, I’ll send him some pudding, that’ll make him happy.” Desperado will send a cake to the hospital, he’ll make it big enough for Naito to have some too, because he’s sure that Naito is one who stuffed the extra sweaters into his shopping bag. He possibly owes both of those assholes more than a cake.

The trip back to Desperado’s apartment is slow. Traffic isn’t thick, but it’s cautious. There’s snow on the ground, and people are careful on the icy roads. As soon as they’re in, Zack shoves Desperado against the wall, and kisses him. Zack’s hands in his hair are tugging, and demanding, pulling him closer. Zack breaks the kiss with a lazy smile.

“I’m starving,” his smile sharpens into a grin, “feed me.”

“Yeah, yeah… you’re getting noodles, and whatever vegetables are in my fridge.” Desperado changes into his house shoes, and shuffles past Zack, jumping slightly when Zack slaps his ass.

“Sounds good, babe.” Desperado decides against commenting on the pet-name. He should be grateful Zack hasn’t concocted something longwinded and ridiculous to call him; snuggle-muffin-of-manly-finesse, or masked-lucha-love-machine, or something equally ridiculous seems more Zack’s style. He shakes his head. His foolish heart is so pleased with itself. Filled with warmth from Zack singing off-key in the living room. This might be the first time it’s set itself to someone who seems to return its affection. He’s grinning like an idiot. He can feel it stretching his face. He’s not been this happy in a _long_ time.

“Despy!” Zack hollers, and Desperado pokes his head out from the kitchen. Zack is sitting in a heap of jumbled packages, and what looks like three miles of wrapping paper. There are several stripes of Sellotape on the edge of Desperado’s coffee table. “Come here.” Desperado rolls his eyes, and goes back to the kitchen.

“Let me dish up dinner, then I’ll be all yours.” Desperado gives him a slight smile, and heads back to his pans. The noodles need draining, and the vegetables look to be cooked long enough. “Before you ask, this is vegan.” Desperado sets a bowl down on the coffee table, and sits down on his couch, his knee against Zack’s shoulder.

“Thanks.” Zack glances up at him with a smile. He starts eating, and shoots Desperado a smile. “You’re a good cook.” Zack bumps his shoulder against Desperado’s knee.

“I had practice in the dojo,” Desperado ruffles Zack’s hair. “What is it you wanted me for?”

“What I need your help with is wrapping paper,” Zack sits up on the couch beside Desperado. “It keeps fighting with me, so you hold the corners, and I’ll stick them down, okay?” Desperado nods absently. Zack gives him one of those far too big, far too goofy smiles, and pecks him on the cheek.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seconded you,” Desperado smiles to himself, his attention on the noodles in the bowl, all coiled around each other the way Zack coils around his opponents. “I suppose wrapping paper won’t be much of an opponent for a danger noodle like you.” He laughs. Zack elbows him.

“Danger noodle?” Zack laughs, and kisses the side of Desperado’s head. “I like it,” Zack finishes his noodles, and grins at him. “We gonna have cute pet-names for each other? I’ll have to think of one for you… Banana splits?” Zack laughs, and Desperado kicks him off the couch. Zack sprawls in his mess of wrapping paper, grinning up at Desperado.

“So, what’s the one that’s already wrapped?” Desperado pokes the wrapped gift with one foot. Zack smacks Desperado’s ankle.

“No touching.” Zack snaps, and pulls him to the floor, trapping him in some weird half-submission hold, half gentle caress. “That one’s for you, you twat.” Zack pulls Desperado into a kiss. “Now, let me get back to my match.” Zack lets Desperado go, and shoves him off. Desperado settles himself on the other side of all of the wrapping paper, waiting for his instructions. “Right,” Zack’s brandishing a pair scissors when Desperado looks at him. “You hold this.” Desperado holds the piece of paper Zack indicates.

“So, all I have to do is hold paper, Noodle?” Zack nods absently, and starts pulling bits of tape off the coffee table.

“Hold paper, and make sure everything stays where it should.” Zack mutters around the bit of tape between his teeth. Two presents down, and Zack suddenly levels him with a harsh look. “You got any Christmas music in here?”

“Christmas music?” Desperado looks up from his corner holding. “Why would I have Christmas music?” Zack shrugs, and lifts his hips, pulling his phone from his pocket with one hand.

“Here, find some.” Zack throws Desperado his phone, and keeps sticking tape all over the present he’s wrapping. Desperado starts scrolling through Zack’s music list. He’s looking for any song called Christmas anything. “Bit of Bing, nice.” Zack looks up, and smiles at him. He reaches over, and kisses Desperado on the tip of his nose. “You’ve good taste.” Zack gets back to his wrapping, and Desperado finds that stupid smile forming on his face again.

“Yeah,” his heart literally couldn’t feel any fuller or warmer, “yeah I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for anon on tumblr


	13. 13th of December: Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 13th of December: Suzuki and Desperado spar, and discuss keeping warm.

The Boss is waiting for him in the ring. A lazy smirk on his face. He gestures to the middle from his spot in a corner – Hiromu’s corner, not that Desperado is invested in where Hiromu stands in the ring during the LIJ rollcall, he just knows.

“C’mon, we don’t have all day.” The Boss laughs at him, when he scampers to get into the ring. The Boss starts running through basic holds. “Do you need to tell me anything?” Desperado wishes Suzuki wouldn’t ask him questions when he’s being wrenched the wrong way, but The Boss is an old man filled with terrible habits.

“About what?” Desperado elbows Suzuki in the stomach, and breaks out of the hold, spinning on his heel to lock up with Suzuki again.

“The jumper Zack has taken to living in, and keeps cackling over when he’s had beer.” Suzuki breaks the lock up, and kicks absently at Desperado’s legs. “The one with the sparkly lettuces.”

“Brussel sprouts, Boss.” Desperado swipes behind Suzuki, taking a hold of him with a waist lock. “They’re sparkly brussel sprouts.”

“Lettuces, brussel sprouts, what’s the difference?” Suzuki laughs, like Desperado wasn’t trying to squeeze him in half.

“Ask Zack,” Desperado grinds out as Suzuki reverses the hold, maintains wrist control, and slaps on some kind of painful arm bar thing that Desperado doesn’t know the name of, but knows it hurts a lot.

“So, what do you need to tell me about it?” Suzuki is trying to pull his arm out of the socket, and asking questions of a concerned father in the tone of a demanding drill sergeant.

“I bought him a jumper as a Christmas present.” Desperado rolls out of the hold, rubbing his arm as he leans against the ring ropes.

“A Christmas present?” Suzuki laughs with a shake of his head. “He seems to appreciate it.” Suzuki comes back to the middle of the ring, and holds his hands up, ready to tie up again.

“Yeah, well,” Desperado locks up with Suzuki, “it’s winter, and he’s skinny. I need to keep him warm.”

“You do?” Suzuki pulls him into some other painful hold, and he grunts in pain. He’s been trained out of the habit of crying out in pain. Crying out in pain is a sign of weakness, weakness is something that makes life in Suzuki Gun impossible, so Desperado will grunt to acknowledge it, but nothing more.

“ _We_ do,” he corrects himself. Inter-team relationships are also a weakness. Suzuki Gun, unlike the other teams, and he only has LIJ to hold up as an example of being the exact opposite but they count, doesn’t encourage connections deeper than friendship.

“Hmm,” Suzuki throws him at the ropes, and kicks his upper thigh. Another grunt escapes Desperado. “You do need to keep him warmer.” Suzuki follows him to the ring ropes, and kicks his thigh again. Suzuki pulls him back into the middle of the ring, and wraps an arm around Desperado’s throat. “Is he keeping you warmer?”

“What?” Desperado fingers scrabbles over Suzuki’s forearm.

“Ibushi, Kushida… Takahashi,” Suzuki tightens the hold. “Is Zack keeping your warmer?” Desperado taps. Suzuki lets go. “Is he, Despy?”

“Yes, Boss.” Desperado rubs his throat, and meets Suzuki’s eyes. Suzuki inclines his head, almost imperceptibly, and gives the barest hint of an expression that lacks malice, or violence. 

“Let’s go again.”

Three more sparring bouts in, and Suzuki declares them to be done for the day. He heads to the showers, trusting Desperado to take care of cleaning up the ring. Which is something Desperado is fine with, he usually showers when he gets home, and today, Zack’s there. He’d promised to make Desperado lunch, and to tidy up all the mess his wrapping paper made, and to pick the last of the little bits of tape off the coffee table, very important things to Desperado.

Desperado’s sitting on a bench pulling on his winter boots, when a fully dressed Suzuki wanders past, and ruffles his hair.

“You did well.” Desperado ducks his head a little, and gives Suzuki a vague smile for what is the closest thing Suzuki ever gives to a compliment.

“Thanks, Boss.” Desperado stands up, and buttons up his coat. He’s ready to be home, so he can check on whether or not Zack really has got all of the tape off the coffee table.

“It’s cold out.” Suzuki mutters, and tosses Desperado a scarf. “You should dress warmer in winter.” Desperado ties the scarf around his throat, and nods slightly to Suzuki. He gets a smile that’s as close to fatherly as Suzuki is capable of, which really is just slightly less terrifying than normal.

“Yes, Boss,” Desperado smoothes his hand down the thick scarf, considering the pattern on it. Brussel sprouts or maybe lettuces. He doesn’t recognise it at all, but maybe Suzuki has more than one scarf, and is just lending him this spare one. The Boss wraps his own scarf around his neck, his familiar scarf, the one The Boss always wears. The scarf he’d thrown Desperado is new. A Christmas present of his own disguised as a scolding to keep warmer. How very Suzuki. “I’ll see you later, Boss.” Suzuki nods, and waves Desperado off.

“Tell Zack I expect to see him here tomorrow.”

“Yes, Boss.” Desperado leaves, pretending not to see Suzuki tucking a scarf that matches Desperado’s own new one back into his bag, and pretending his stupid heart isn’t singing _matching scarves_ to itself over and over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for anonymous on tumblr


	14. 14th of December: Resolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 14th of December: Naito makes the same resolution every year.

If Naito could freeze moments in time to keep forever, this would be one of those moments he’d relive again, and again. Hiromu is lying with his head in Naito’s lap, his hair spilling over Naito’s thighs onto Bushi’s. Bushi is tucked under one of Naito’s arms, absently playing with Hiromu’s hair, weaving little braids into it, only to smooth them out, and start again. Naito’s other hand is petting Hiromu’s stomach, or stroking Evil’s thigh. Evil is sitting on Naito’s other side, Hiromu’s body across his lap. On the other side of Evil, Sanada is half paying attention to the dumb movie they’re watching, half concentrating on texting Milano, occasionally showing them the funnier messages Milano sends. Shingo is sitting on the very end of the couch. He’s not comfortable enough to join in with the cuddle piles. With time he’ll relax into it, but it’ll take time. It took Sanada months to relax enough to do more than sit near a cuddle pile. 

Lying, snuggling, on the couch even just a few weeks ago was basically impossible. Having Hiromu back home, and more importantly, snuggleable is a far better Christmas gift than anything else could be. Naito glances down at Hiromu. A stupid smile forming on his face. This is perfect. All of his team, all of his brothers exactly where they should be.

“You gonna stay over there, Shingo-san?” Hiromu’s voice is low, almost a rumble. Naito chances a glance over at Shingo. He looks slightly confused. “We’re family,” Hiromu wriggles, and squirms over to Shingo, then sits as close to him as possible. Shingo looks more freaked out than Naito’s ever seen. “Families snuggle.” Hiromu picks Shingo’s arm up, and drapes it over his shoulders. Shingo looks like a rabbit in headlights when he meets Naito’s eyes. Naito gives what he thinks is an encouraging smile. Bushi untucks himself from under Naito’s arm, and flops over to rest his head in Hiromu’s lap. Naito scoops Bushi’s legs up, moves closer to him, then drops Bushi’s legs into his lap. Shingo meets Naito’s eyes again.

 _Is this okay?_ He mouths to Naito, definitely not so much uncomfortable, but certainly awkward.

“Of course.” Sanada steps over Evil, and sits down by Naito, his heavy arm rests over Naito’s shoulders, his fingers tangling in Hiromu’s hair.

“You stole my spot.” Evil gripes. He snuggles up to Sanada’s side.

“Fuck, you assholes are shoving me off the end.” Shingo grumbles, shifting carefully beside Hiromu, filled with the inherent concern all of them share when it comes to possibly hurting Hiromu as he heals.

“Hey, you’re the one who thought sitting on the end was a good idea in the first place.” Sanada thwaps Shingo’s shoulder.

“I didn’t know I was invited to these cuddling messes.” Shingo scoops Hiromu up into his lap, and moves closer to the now displaced Bushi. “But, if I am, I want more space on this couch.”

“I’ll trade you space for Hiromu.” Evil offers, and Naito swats the back of his head.

“We have a rota! No trying to skip up turns for Hiromu rights.” There genuinely is a rota on the little whiteboard on the fridge. A list of the days, and who Hiromu is supposed to be spending that night with. So far, Bushi’s carefully organised list has been utterly ignored by everyone, because Naito has yet to let anyone but Evil have a night with Hiromu. He couldn’t keep Evil from Hiromu for too long, They’d both sulk over it. He’s let Evil have a whole night alone with Hiromu. Both he and Evil have shared Hiromu’s bed a few times, but mostly, Naito has held Hiromu in his sleep alone.

“I am not some kind of toy, you know.” Hiromu settles himself in Shingo’s lap, his head against Shingo’s chest. “There really is a rota. Bushi made it up, and Naito has ignored it entirely.” Hiromu tells Shingo, who looks like he’s slightly doubtful of this rota’s existence.

“I’m sure.” He mutters, and rests his chin on Hiromu’s shoulder. “This okay?” If Naito wasn’t so close, he wouldn’t have heard that quiet murmur. Hiromu looks up at Shingo, and kisses his cheek. Bushi shifts, and rests his head on Shingo’s shoulder.

“I’ve missed a good twenty minutes of this movie, because of you idiots.” Bushi snaps. A quick glance, shows that Bushi’s wrapped his arms around Shingo’s waist, holding him closer. Hiromu’s feet wind up in Naito’s lap. Sanada’s head is on Naito’s shoulder, his phone forgotten in his lap. Evil’s cuddled up close to Sanada’s side. Naito smiles to himself. All of his brothers together, all curled up around each other. A moment that if he could keep forever, he would.

The movie ends, and Bushi clambers off the couch, and offers Shingo a hand.

“C’mon you, I’m tired.” Shingo lets Bushi pull him to his feet, only to catch Bushi’s waist, and pick him up. “Saving my poor tired legs from walking?”

“Yes?” Shingo still sounds a little awkward, but he’s not had his initiation yet, so again that’s to be expected. It’ll come once Hiromu’s better, and Rush has time. It’s all been too chaotic lately. Things will calm down in the new year, once Hiromu’s healed, and once Naito’s had a chance to think things over properly.

“Here, I’ll help.” Sanada takes a hold of one of Bushi’s legs, and hoists it into the air. “Evil.”

“Yeah, yeah…” Evil leans over Naito, and cups Hiromu’s cheek, drawing him into a long, thorough kiss. For a moment he rests his forehead against Hiromu’s, then gets to his feet. “Right, to bed.” He takes Bushi’s free leg, and then four of them make their ridiculous way out of the living room.

“You think he’ll get used to this?” Hiromu comes over to Naito and coils around him, kissing his jawline.

“Shingo?” Naito catches Hiromu’s chin. His thumb rubs along Hiromu’s cheek. “He’ll be fine.” Naito kisses him. “We’ll take care of him.”

“Yeah,” Hiromu leans up for anther kiss. “You coming to bed?” Hiromu snuggles against Naito, smothering a yawn against Naito’s shoulder.

“C’mon then, to bed, little weasel.” Naito nudges at Hiromu lightly. Hiromu rolls off of his lap, and gets to his feet, holding his hands out to Naito.

In bed, Naito wraps Hiromu up in his arms, and holds him close. He presses light, fluttering kisses to Hiromu’s face. He’s too tired for more than cuddles, and lazy kisses.

“So, you gonna make any resolutions this year, Naito?” Hiromu nuzzles against Naito’s neck, and pressing a few gentle kisses to Naito’s skin. The question comes out of the blue, throwing Naito for a moment.

“Resolutions?” He shifts so he can see Hiromu’s face, seeing nothing untoward, only open curiosity. “I suppose I could resolve to win more matches, or to buy another pair of those star shorts Bushi hates so much.” Hiromu laughs, pressing his face to Naito’s chest. “But, I think there’s just one that’s important.” Naito holds Hiromu a little tighter, and kisses the top of his head.

“You gonna tell me what it is?” Hiromu wriggles in his arms, unhappy with being held so tightly. Naito adjusts his hold, settling his arms in the right spots on Hiromu to make him happy. Hiromu likes being held lightly, with arms and hands in just the right spots.

“If I tell you, you might hold me accountable to it.” Naito kisses Hiromu’s hair.

“Hmm,” Hiromu yawns against Naito’s chest. “I might, but first I’m going to sleep. G’night.”

“Good night, little weasel.” Naito runs his hand down Hiromu’s back, and closes his eyes. His resolution is the same one he always makes. _This year I will protect my brothers. This year I will keep them safe. This year I will support and love them even more. This year I will make them happy._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for anonymous on tumblr


	15. 15th of December: Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 15th of December: Hiromu has been waiting for that spark you feel when you meet The One his whole life. When he does, it’s perfect... but is The One as perfect as he seems?

“You know, I don’t think I’m ever going to fall in love.” The marshmallows on top of Hiromu’s hot chocolate probably don’t deserve to be so vigorously stabbed, but he’s feeling _aggressive_ towards them. Another failed date, and what’s looking like another year single. Still, his marshmallows don’t deserve his ire.

“Oh?” Bushi doesn’t look up from his phone, a slight smile curving his lips.

“Naito sending you cute pictures, _again_?” Hiromu’s straw gets stuck in an overly stabbed marshmallow, leaving him awkwardly trying to bite the marshmallow off the straw without dribbling chocolate on his shirt.

“He made _tiny_ Santa hats for his favourite ones.”

“Which is _all_ of them.”

“Which _is_ all of them.” Bushi laughs, and turns his phone screen to Hiromu. Naito, Bushi’s other half, is a stuffed animal maker by trade, and has arranged a small army of his favourite creations, all topped with little red, fur-trimmed hats. “How he expects to sell any of them, I’ve no idea.”

“I guess he hopes to make his living repairing other peoples’.” Hiromu shrugs, and turns his attention to the people passing by Bushi’s tailors.

“Hmm, he does okay with that, I guess.” Bushi sets his phone down, and levels Hiromu with a look. “So, you’ve yet to tell me what was wrong with the guy I set you up with last night.”

“Eh,” Hiromu drains his cup, and returns to stabbing marshmallows. “Nothing, he just wasn’t the one, you know?” When he’d been younger looking for the one hadn’t seemed like too much to ask, but now it seems like an almost impossible dream.

“ _None_ of them are going to be the one if you don’t give them a chance.” Bushi mutters, turning to suit jacket on the dummy behind him, and starting to pin the modifications its owner wanted.

“You know what I mean,” Hiromu brandishes a stabbed marshmallow at Bushi, “if they’re the one, there should be that spark.”

“Uh-huh… spark,” Hiromu can hear Bushi rolling his eyes.

“You’re telling me you didn’t have a spark with Naito?” With that, Hiromu eats his last marshmallow.

“When Naito wandered in, all I thought of him was that he was a scruffy weirdo who wanted cheap offcuts for nefarious purposes.” Bushi laughs.

“That you wanted to get to know.”

“Because he was handsome,” Bushi finishes Hiromu’s sentence for him. “Fine, there was a _spark_ , but just because there isn’t one straight away, doesn’t mean there can’t be one later on. Not every fire starts with a spark, sometimes you have to tend it to make it burn, Hiro.” Bushi kicks his ankle, and Hiromu nods absently. Maybe Bushi is right, but he thinks he deserves his spark. The little bell over Bushi’s shop door rings. “Go make yourself useful.”

“Hi, can I help you?” Hiromu finds himself staring at the man in the shop. Tall, broad shoulders, thick waist, and a face. Hiromu’s brain blanks when it comes to picking words for that face. Elegant, handsome, something along those lines. He’s not sure what would be the best word, but words are the last thing on his mind. A spark. His mind helpfully provides. _This_ is his spark.

“Yeah, I,” the man gives him a slight smile, and Hiromu’s brain blanks again. The man is still talking. Hiromu is staring like an idiot. Bushi kicks him in the ankle, and hands the man a suit bag.

“Thank you. Let me know if it needs modifying again.” Bushi tells the man, and takes his money. The man gives Hiromu a look, a lingering look.

“Do you work here?” The man asks Hiromu. Hiromu manages a slight smile, and an awkward shake of his head. Bushi looks over at him.

“No, my friend is just helping out,” Bushi hands the man his change. The man nods, and leaves.

“Don’t ask.” Hiromu shakes his head, blinking quickly, and heading to the back. Bushi follows him.

“I’m going to,” Bushi returns to his work with a lazy smile on his face. “What was that?” Hiromu shrugs, and pulls on his coat. A spark. He smiles to himself, and winds his scarf around his neck. _That_ was a spark.

“What was what?” Hiromu gives as innocent a smile as he can manage. Bushi frowns at him. Hiromu pulls on his hat, and his innocent smile fades into something more nervous.

“Fine, I’ll let you off the hook for now.” Bushi sighs. “You going to actually work on that canvas?” A good question, one Hiromu should answer with a yes, but can’t. “Have you even started?” Hiromu laughs, and Bushi throws a pincushion at him. “The charity auction is in like three weeks, Hiromu!”

“Don’t worry, paint dries quickly.” Hiromu gives a glib laugh, and leaves Bushi’s shop with a fond wave.

He should go work on the painting he’s giving to the charity auction Bushi mentioned. Every year the Suzuki Corporation has a Christmas Charity Auction. It’s a mark of success to be invited to auction off a work in it. This is Hiromu’s first invitation, but his brain isn’t cooperating with him. He needs to paint something festive, something at least wintery, but his brain is drawing blanks. Every time he stares at his canvas, nothing comes to him.

Today though, he has an idea. A kernel of one at least. He starts preparing the canvas. His mind feels clear. This idea is a seed, but he’ll keep tending to it, and it’ll blossom.

Time falls away when Hiromu is working. He gets lost in his own head, in the image he can see there, and trying to bring it to life on to his canvas. He can’t _fully_ see this picture, but he has an idea. He can see the background at least. He knows it has to be dark, but with streaks of light, like moon beams through a window into a dusty room. He knows how it needs to look, and he knows it’s going to take a while to be right. He’ll keep trying until he’s happy. He spares a glance for the couch pressed along one of the walls in his studio. At least being single means he can sleep in the studio, and not have to worry about telling someone he won’t be home. He can spend as much time working on his painting as he likes.

He forgets he has another Bushi arranged date until about twenty minutes before he has to leave for it. He throws a clean-ish button down on, and drags a comb through his hair. He looks passable, tired, and slightly covered in paint. The one good thing about the elevators being reflective, on the inside, is that it lets him check for paint smudges. There’s an impressive smudge of black on his cheek that he scrubs off with his sleeve. He’s glad the only button downs he owns are black.

The man Bushi has set him up with is nice, a little older than he’d like, but he’s nice, and makes cheesy jokes. He spends what feels like hours talking about his work, and his ex. Hiromu finds himself nodding vaguely, and going _mhmm_ more, until he can’t hear the man talking.

Hiromu jolts awake at the sound of a guitar near his ear. He stares across the table at an empty chair.

“He left.” A muffled voice, deep and rich, but muffled by the mask on the guitar player’s face.

“Well, shit.” Hiromu rubs his temples, and lets his head rest against his hands. “Bushi’s gonna kill me.”

“No, I’ll let you off the hook, cause you look like shit.” Bushi’s voice comes from the other side of the table. “So, you wanna tell me what the hell happened here?”

“I feel asleep,” Hiromu drains his wineglass, and smiles gratefully at Bushi as he tops it up. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, Ryusuke asked me to come collect you, because you seemed drunk on a glass of wine.” Bushi levels him with an unimpressed look. “Was he really _that_ boring?”

“He’s very nice, but,” Hiromu sighs, and sips at his refilled wine glass.

“No spark?” Bushi sighs, and sips at his own wine. “I swear, I should be setting you up with an electrician.” Hiromu laughs at that, and shakes his head.

“Maybe. I’d get plenty of sparks that way.” Hiromu chuckles, and takes a breadstick from the bundle in the middle of the table.

“Hmm… electrician it is then.” Bushi looks around the restaurant, his gaze settling on the guitar player. “He’s got a nice ass, doesn’t he?” Hiromu laughs again.

“Everyone has a nicer ass than Naito.” Hiromu grins at Bushi, who throws a breadstick at Hiromu.

“Tetsuya has a fine, if a little flat, ass.” Bushi bites a breadstick in half, “at least I have a man, flat ass and all, unlike you, Hiromu.” He jabs the half of a breadstick at Hiromu.

“Harsh.” Hiromu mutters, and drains his wineglass again. “So, breadsticks and wine?” Bushi laughs, and tops up Hiromu’s glass.

“Breadsticks and wine.”

Several bottles of wine later, the guitar player comes over to Hiromu’s table again.

“Where’s your friend?” His eyes crinkle behind the mask, making it clear he’s smiling. Hiromu shakes his head, and sips at his wine.

“The bathroom.” The restaurant is devoid of patrons, so Hiromu feels less guilty about keeping the guitar player from entertaining guests. “I guess we stayed here a little too long.” The guitar player laughs, and gestures to the empty bottles of wine.

“Maybe,” he absently starts strumming on his guitar. “You want me to play you a song”

“Hmm,” Hiromu pours some more wine into his glass, and smiles at the masked man. He’s got nice hands, big and strong, his nails painted white, his fingers long and elegant. “You know anything that isn’t a love song?” The guitar player starts playing Jingle Bells. Hiromu chuckles, and starts singing along.

“Ah, drunk enough to be singing… that’s a sign.” Bushi comes back, and taps Hiromu on the shoulder. “C’mon, stop harassing this poor man, and come home. You can sleep on our couch instead of that shitty one in the studio.” Bushi pulls him to his feet, and promptly wobbles, almost dropping Hiromu to the floor. The guitar player quickly sets his guitar down, and slides his arm under Hiromu’s, holding him up.

“Don’t worry, I’m done for the night.” The guitar player says, thankfully ignoring the way Hiromu is leaning against him. He smells good, and feels better.

“Which means he can make sure I get in a cab.” Hiromu shoots Bushi a look. Bushi stares at him.

“Right… alright, text me when you get home then.” Bushi pulls Hiromu into a hug. “Don’t make bad decisions for a fine ass.” He whispers in Hiromu’s ear, and squeezes him tighter.

“I’ll make sure of it.” The guitar player takes Hiromu back, holding him up right when Hiromu’s legs decide to not work properly. “You okay?”

“If he’s singing, he’s too drunk for much of anything.” Bushi shouts as he makes his way out of the restaurant.

“I’m good.” Hiromu steps away from the guitar player, and gives him a wobbly smile.

“C’mon, let’s get you home.” Hiromu follows the guitar player through the back of the restaurant, and leans against a wall, watching him taking off his mask, and ruffle his hair.

“Do you have a name, Mr guitar player?” Hiromu smiles at him, pretending to not watch the man pull his shirt off, and replace it with something thicker, warmer, and more suitable for going outside. The guitar player pulls on a sweater over his undershirt, and ties his hair back, before turning to look at Hiromu. His brain breaks. The guitar player is the guy from Bushi’s store. His spark. 

“El Desperado,” he bows at the waist, and catches a hold of Hiromu’s hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it. “Do I get to know your name?” He gives Hiromu a smile, a smile that has him, even in his usually shameless drunken state, blushing.

“Hiromu Takahashi. Nothing fancy, and…” Hiromu trails off. He’s no idea what language it’s in.

“Spanish… my mother is Mexican.”

“Oh… that’s cool. El Desperado, huh… it’s a mouthful,” Hiromu clamps his hands over his mouth.

“Desperado is fine, if you can get your mouth around it.” Hiromu dissolves into giggles. Desperado winks, looking pleased his joke had landed. “So, Hiromu, let’s get you home, hmm?”

“Kay, Despy.” Hiromu grins at him, and follows Desperado out of the restaurant, into a big carpark.

“Careful, it’s slippy out here.” Desperado slips his arm around Hiromu’s waist again, holding him close, keeping him upright. Desperado leads him over to a beat-up, little car. “You’re pretty drunk, huh?”

“Hmm?” Hiromu glances up at him.

“I’m glad you like the smell of my aftershave, but I’m not sure you should be telling me that on the first day we meet.” Desperado laughs. Hiromu pulls away, and almost falls flat on his ass. Desperado catches him. For a moment, their faces are far too close, close enough to kiss.

“Thank you.” Hiromu awkwardly pulls away, and straightens up. Desperado opens his car door, and ushers Hiromu in. “It is nice aftershave.”

“Thanks.” Desperado turns on the heating. “So, where am I taking you?” It’s a good question. He should go home, but he needs to work on that canvas. There’s something in the back of his mind, something he needs to get down before it leaves him. Hiromu gives Desperado the address for his little studio.

The first layers of paint are dry enough for Hiromu to start working on the next layer. His mind is focussed on the picture. He can see the next part that it needs. He needs to put it in before his mind forgets. He starts painting, losing himself in his work.

“I see you got almost home.” Bushi lets himself into Hiromu’s studio in the morning, waking Hiromu up from the nap he was having on the couch. Bushi kicks his ankle, and perches on the edge of the dresser that runs along the wall by the couch.

“I needed to work on it.” Hiromu gestures to the canvas.

“It’s not very _Christmassy_ ,” Bushi jerks his head in the direction of the painting.

“It’s got a Christmassy name, I think.” Hiromu considers the canvas. He thinks the picture is called _Angel_ , he’s not sure, but he _thinks_ it is.

“If you say so.” Bushi hands him a takeaway cup of hot chocolate, and gives Hiromu a fond smile. “So, did you avoid making bad decisions, other than sleeping in this freezing cold studio, again?”

“I did,” Hiromu takes a sip of his chocolate, and grins at Bushi. “I’m meeting him for lunch, so I can make a bad decision then.” Bushi laughs at that, and hands Hiromu a bakery takeout bag.

Desperado is sitting at one of the benches around the little pop-up hot chocolate stand in the park, staring out at the ice-skaters when Hiromu sits down beside him.

“I’m not late, am I?” Hiromu nudges his side.

“No,” Desperado turns to him with a smile, and tucks Hiromu’s hair behind his ear. “I didn’t know what your favourite was…” He trails off, his smile turning apologetic.

“Marshmallows, whipped cream, and a candy cane.” Hiromu grins at Desperado, and nudges his shoulder again. He takes a sip of chocolate, and watches the kids on the ice. “I’ve no idea how to skate.”

“I could teach you.” Desperado offers, and Hiromu shakes his head.

“Laughing at me falling over is like a third date thing, you know?”

“This is a date?” Desperado asks softly, like he wasn’t sure about it at all.

“I thought it was.” Hiromu twists so he can look at Desperado properly. “It is a date, right, Despy?” The silly shortening of his name makes Desperado smile.

“Yeah,” he taps his own hot chocolate against Hiromu’s and slips his arm around Hiromu’s shoulders, pulling him in closer. “It’s a date.”

Their third date ends up being snowman building, in the empty lot near Hiromu’s studio, rather than ice-skating, and for that Hiromu is very grateful. He’s no faith in his ability to remain upright on the ice. The cold ends up being too much for them, and Hiromu, in a fit of bravery, invites Desperado up to his studio. He doesn’t usually let people see where he works, it’s a private, and guarded thing for him.

“Wow.” The first thing that leaves Desperado’s mouth when he enters the vast, and _slightly_ chilly space. “You’re really talented.” There’s far too many canvases lying around, paintings Hiromu doesn’t think are good enough to be more than kept as examples of how much he needs to improve. “What’s this one?” He’s standing in front of the still unfinished auction painting. Hiromu’s mind has stalled on what should be the main focus of the piece. He has the background, but nothing else.

“Finished soon, hopefully.” Hiromu presses himself to Desperado’s back, wrapping his arms around his waist, and standing on his tiptoes to prop his chin on Desperado’s broad shoulder. “So, you wanna…” Hiromu trails off, and starts walking backwards, towards to the couch.

“A couch?” Desperado sounds dubious, and Hiromu laughs at him. He’s clearly got the wrong end of the stick.

“It’s the best place to snuggle up to fight the cold.” Desperado blushes at that, and scoops Hiromu up, holding him close to his chest. “Did you think I was going to suggest something untoward? C’mon, this is only our third date. It’s gonna take at least ten more for that.”

“Ten more dates, hmm? I can do that.” Desperado flops down onto the couch, and arranges Hiromu over him, framing his face with his hands. “First though, I think I’d like to snuggle.”

They must have fallen asleep, because Hiromu wakes up on the couch, with the last conscious memory being of watching some movie on Desperado’s phone and eating delivered pizza. Desperado’s sitting on the edge of the couch, staring down at his phone. The sun streaming in the window, making it hard to see anything but the shadowy valleys of his back muscles through his thin white shirt. The rest of his painting. Hiromu sits up, and rubs his hands over the solid planes of muscle, barely hidden by the fabric. This back, with its thick muscle, and beautiful lines, that is the rest of his painting. Desperado sets his phone down, and turns to Hiromu.

“Morning.” He cups Hiromu’s cheek, and kisses him. “I’m so sorry I ended up crashing over. I should be going.”

“Hmm,” Hiromu kisses Desperado again, and pulls him back down on the couch. “C’mon, I’m still tired.” Hiromu nuzzles against Desperado’s neck.

“Still tired?” Desperado smiles at him, smoothing his hair back from his face. “I guess, it is cold in here, it would be irresponsible of me to let such a talented artist freeze to death during a nap.” Desperado adjusts how the blanket is lying over Hiromu, wraps his arms around him tightly, and draws him into a kiss. “Get some rest, and then I’ll treat you to some lunch.”

The next few weeks pass in a blur of happiness. Desperado is his one. He _has_ to be. He appreciates that being creative sometimes means that three in the morning is the best time to do things, even drinking hot chocolate. He takes Hiromu ice-skating, manages to be the single most elegant man on the ice, and more impressively doesn’t laugh at Hiromu falling flat on his ass a thousand times. His strong arms, and broad chest make for the best accompaniments to a nap Hiromu’s ever had. Best of all, his kisses. His kisses deserve sonnets written for them.

Hiromu is in the middle of explaining as much to Bushi, when his friend slides some financial magazine over to him, open on a double page colour spread of some business man.

“Isn’t that Desperado?” Bushi sounds confused, but nowhere near as confused as Hiromu. A double page, colour spread about Kyosuke Suzuki. The adopted son of Minoru Suzuki. The owner of the Suzuki Corporation. “I wonder why he plays guitar in a restaurant in the evenings when he comes from so much money.

“I don’t know…” Hiromu stares blankly at the article, at the picture. Desperado isn’t some guy who plays guitar in a restaurant. Desperado isn’t even actually called Desperado. Kyosuke Suzuki. Kyosuke Suzuki, the son of the owner of the Suzuki Corporation. The company he’s supposed to making a painting for. It shouldn’t change things. It shouldn’t, but it does. It really does. Despy could have been honest with him. He lied. He hid the truth. His spark wasn’t worth waiting for after all. His spark is with a liar who wouldn’t even tell him his name. Hiromu rubs his temples. He should have tried harder with one of the many men he’s passed over, because waiting for his spark was the worst idea. “I should go… I’m meeting him for lunch.”

“Hmm, I guess you can ask him why he kept his identity a secret.” Bushi gives him a worried look. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter at all. _But_ , Desperado lied to him. He lied from the very start. He lied about the most simple of things. 

Desperado is sitting at the hot chocolate bar, Hiromu’s favourite order already waiting for him. The most beautiful smile spreads over his lips when he sees Hiromu. He stands, and reaches out to Hiromu for a hug. Hiromu throws the magazine at him. It bounces off his chest and hits the floor.

“What’s this?” Desperado stoops to pick it up.

“I don’t want to make a scene.” Hiromu hisses, crouching so his mouth is near Desperado’s ear. “I don’t know why you lied to me, and really I don’t care. I just…” He curses himself for getting so emotional over this. If Desperado, _Kyosuke_ , couldn’t be honest about even his name, he can’t expect him to be honest about _anything_. “Just, leave me alone.” Hiromu stands up, and walks away. His heart hurts.

It doesn’t matter.

Hiromu goes back to his studio, and takes up his paintbrush. He should finish this picture. It’s due tomorrow night. He needs to finish so he can be done with the Suzuki Corporation, with Desperado, with Kyosuke Suzuki for good.

The auction party is filled with rich people, chatting, sipping at flutes of champagne, and nibbling at tiny hors d’oeuvres. As ever, in situations like these, Hiromu feels out of place and awkward. He fusses with his sleeves, and casts his eyes around the room. He can see Desperado, _Kyosuke_ , talking to an impossibly beautiful woman with long jet-black hair, and a full crimson pout. She laughs at what he says, and touches his arm. He looks good in a suit, but that’s no surprise, Bushi is a good tailor, and Hiromu recognises his style even from a distance. Hiromu turns away. His heart hurts. His heart has no business hurting.

“Champagne?” A server holds out a tray of champagne flutes. Hiromu takes a glass, with a quiet little _thank you_. The art to be auctioned off is displayed throughout the room. Hiromu can see his own painting on the wall near Kyosuke. He’s talking with the beautiful woman, and some curiously pretty man with a blond fringe and a champagne flute in each hand. Hiromu drains his glass, and curses himself for coming here. He should have just stayed home. He can hear Desperado laughing. His heart hurts. He closes his eyes tightly, and presses his lips together. He should leave, or at least get some air. He spares a glance for his painting. Desperado’s broad, thick back, beams of light from a moon off frame, inky black feathers falling to the ground, and the wings growing from that broad back with brilliantly white feathers blossoming on them. It’s a nice painting. Hiromu’s oddly proud of it. Even if it was born from a lie, and the feathers’ colours should be reversed, his technique is at least acceptable in it. Desperado laughs again, and claps the pretty man on the shoulder, squeezing firmly. His heart hurts even more.

“Fuck it.” Hiromu finds the champagne server, grabs another flute, and escapes to the roof.

It’s cold enough that it feels like it’s going to snow. The whole city is spread out in front of him. The Christmas lights bright are pops of colour in amongst the plain white of the tall buildings and streetlights. Hiromu leans against the wall around the roof, and stares down, losing himself in the ocean of colours.

“An electrician.” Hiromu mutters. That’s who he should try to fall in love with, someone who can make sparks. Having _real_ sparks would hurt a lot less than the ones he felt with Desperado, _Kyosuke_. He closes his eyes, and ignores the tears he can feel just behind his eyelids.

“I’m sorry.” Hiromu squeezes his eyes closed tighter, and tries to pretend he can’t hear the voice of the man who is pressed against his back. Strong, thick arms wind around Hiromu’s waist. “I didn’t… I’m always Desperado when I play. You asked my name then, so I told you the truth as it was.”

“You could have told me the truth as it is.” Hiromu wills his tears away, and lets his body relax. He’ll let himself feel the spark one last time, then he’ll leave. “I don’t even know what I should call you, Mr Suzuki, Kyosuke?”

“Despy.” The arms around Hiromu’s waist tighten, and Desperado’s lips brush over the skin of his neck. “I like that from you.” Desperado turns Hiromu in his arms, and cups his face. “Thank you for the painting, by the way. It’s beautiful.”

“You bought it?” Hiromu looks away, his cheeks feel far too hot beneath Desperado’s hands.

“I had to, I couldn’t let someone else own a painting of me.” Desperado’s thumbs stroke Hiromu’s cheeks. “It’s gorgeous, more than I deserve.” Hiromu takes a step back, out of Desperado’s gentle hold. “Hiromu?”

“It’s just a painting.” He shrugs, wrapping his arms around himself, cursing how cold it is up here on the roof. His suit doesn’t do much of anything to keep the chill out. “I’m glad some money went to charity.”

“Hiromu.” Desperado takes his coat off, offering it to Hiromu. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you exactly who I am, but I have a reason.” He comes closer, and wraps Hiromu up in his coat, engulfing him in his arms. “People usually only see the money, but you saw _me_ , and I didn’t want to lose that.” Hiromu closes his eyes, and hides his face against Desperado’s chest. “I didn’t want you to think of me as anyone more than someone living his dreams, like you. Just a simple guitar player, not some business man in a suit, surrounded by money and numbers. Just Desperado, just a man and his guitar. A man and his art. I’m tired of being nothing more than my father’s son. With you, I could be myself. I could be a man who has hot chocolate at three in the morning, or go ice-skating in the park, because all he has to worry about is playing his guitar, and making the man he lo-li-cares for happy.” Desperado turns his face skyward, blinking rapidly. “I didn’t have to pretend with you, and it was the best few weeks of my life.” He laughs miserably, still staring up at the sky. “I understand your anger. I _know_ I hurt you by keeping the truth from you, but I need to thank you for letting me be myself for the first time in a long time.”

“Despy,” Hiromu pulls back a little. Desperado’s watery gaze snaps down to his face, and Hiromu finds himself smiling, some silly, fond smile at the almost awed look in Desperado’s eyes. “You don’t have any other secrets, do you?” Desperado laughs softly, and shakes his head. Fat snowflakes start drifting down on them, Desperado strokes a hand through Hiromu’s hair, clearing the snow from it.

“Only, that I have an obscene amount of money, spend my days being bored, the name on my birth certificate is Kyosuke Suzuki, and all I want is to make the man I love happy.” Hiromu slides his fingers into Desperado’s hair, and draws his face down, resting their foreheads together. “Anything you need to tell me?” His hands are holding Hiromu’s head, his fingers flexing against Hiromu’s scalp.

“Hmm,” Hiromu moves his head, so their lips are touching. “Only, that I love you.” Desperado closes the distance between their lips, kissing him deeply.

“I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for anonymous on tumblr


	16. 16th of December: Tradition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 16th of December: Seth and Finn talk over their old Christmas on the road traditions, and start their own new one.

Christmas on the road is basically a tradition. One Seth isn’t sure he likes, but recognises he’s stuck with. Back when The Shield first started, the traditions were new, still being formed, and he loved them. He loved the habits, that became traditions between him and the two men he considered brothers. He loved knowing that the first stop would always be finding the nearest coffeeshop to where they were staying. He loved the two in the morning scramble to find a Walmart, so they could get the toothbrush, and conditioner that Roman would always forget to take with him, every time they changed hotels. He loved Dean trying to find the most haunted hotels to book them into so he could try his hand at ghost hunting. Most of all, he loved their Cracker Barrel Christmas dinners. He loved how lowkey they were, how almost inevitable they were, how they’d drive past Denny’s, or Subways, or any other outlet, just to find a Cracker Barrel, because it was tradition, and that’s what they always do.

Now, there’s no Shield. Now he’s not sure if he should keep the tradition alive or not. He’s not going to miss Cracker Barrel’s food, but he is going to miss stealing gravy from Roman, and fending off Dean’s attempts at swiping his waffles.

“So, where’d you wanna eat?” He’s travelling with Finn, because of course he’s travelling with Finn. They’ve been together for almost a year, there’s no reason to travel with anyone else. Instead of answering, Seth shrugs. “You don’t have a Christmas road tradition?” He’s smiling, and Seth appreciates the attempt at cheering him up, but he’s in a mood. He’s no real reason to be in this mood, but he is.

“I do, but…” Seth trails off, and Finn nods, his attention on the road once more.

“They’re with other people.” He falls quiet, his gaze unwavering on the road. “You know, back in Japan,” that catches Seth’s attention. Finn doesn’t talk about Japan all that often. He’ll mention a few things here or there, but on the whole, that time in his life is something he keeps to himself. “The tradition is to have KFC for Christmas.”

“KFC?” Seth looks over at him, Finn’s still watching the road, but there’s a fond smile on his lips.

“Yeah. Don’t ask me why, no one could give me a good explanation. Anyway, one year I got stuck. The snow at Narita was too heavy, so I wouldn’t get home in time for Christmas dinner.” Finn chuckles to himself, lost in the memory. “My hotel room was up, so they let me crash in the dojo, and Naito, of all people, comes shuffling in with more KFC than I’ve ever seen in my life. His English isn’t great, but he tries, lord love him, he tries. For a guy whose gimmick is being a twat, he’s actually a decent guy. Anyway, Naito spreads all this fried chicken out on the table, and bemoans my lack of Spanish.”

“Spanish?” Seth looks over at Finn. He’s still smiling like fool, this is clearly a fond memory.

“He’s got way better Spanish than you’d think, well, maybe not nowadays, but I didn’t know him all that well. So, there’s me, Naito, and what looks like all the fried chicken he could carry sat around the dining table in the dojo, and in walks Honma and Liger. Now, I’m expecting us to get a bollocking, and by the look on his face, Naito was expecting a bollocking too, but Liger just takes a seat, and leg, and starts eating.” Finn laughs, and shakes his head. “Then,” Finn sighs, and Seth looks over. Finn’s wearing a pensive expression, his mouth bunched at once side. 

“Then?” Seth asks, hoping to prompt some kind of continuation of the story.

“Ryu, Taguchi shows up with more chicken, and more beer than he could carry. He’d drafted one of the young lions to carry it. I can’t remember who… I want to say it was the one Naito adopted, but I think he wasn’t there yet, it was one of them, but fuck knows which one.” Finn swipes a knuckle over his eyes, and presses his lips together. “It was a good night, you know?”

“Sounds like it was quite the feast.” Seth shifts in his car seat. It’s not a very interesting story. He doesn’t know these people, but he’s sure for Finn it’s a fond memory. He’s glad it’s being shared, but the story means nothing to him. Still, it’s nothing to listen to it. “What happened?”

“Hmm?” Finn glances over. “What happened? Well, me and Ryu got absolutely wrecked. Naito’s mate showed up, I can’t think of his name, he’s got a mask, and he wears it like _everywhere_. Dean would like him, he thinks the mask stops ghosts from stealing his soul. Weird dude, nice though,” Seth has no idea who Finn’s talking about, but he makes an agreeing sound, to let Finn know he’s listening. “Anyway, Bushi, that’s his fucking name, he shows up with more chicken. I swear, we must have eaten like three thousand of the damn things. A bunch of young lions were there too… I think Tanahashi-san might have been there… Me and Ryu could drink for Ireland, you know, so it’s all kind of fuzzy.” Finn laughs again. “Then! The bloody drunk arsehole decides we should all go out to karaoke.” Finn ducks his head, snickering to himself briefly, quickly returning his attention to the road again. “Ryu’s got some good pipes on him, you know?”

“Sounds like a good night, Finn.” Seth touches his thigh.

“Yeah, yeah, it was.” Finn closes his eyes for a second, and smiles over at Seth. “So, where’d you wanna get some dinner?” Seth shrugs, and rubs his eyes.

“You want some KFC?” An almost offended look crosses Finn’s face. He doesn’t talk about Japan much, even more rarely does he mention Ryusuke Taguchi. That was a crass comment to make. “So, no on that.” Seth rubs his temples.

“There’s a Cracker Barrel coming up.” Finn offers, and Seth winces. “Ah… Shield tradition?”

“Shield tradition.” Seth mutters, calls up the map app on his phone. “We need a tradition of our own.” He mutters, scrolling through nearby places to eat. Finn laughs suddenly, and pulls into a parking lot.

“So, our Christmas tradition?” Finn grins over at Seth, and rubs his eyes. He’s in the parking lot of a no-name diner, with neon signs in each of the windows that have been wrapped with tinsel, making it impossible to read them.

“Random chance diner?” Seth leans over, and pecks Finn on the cheek. Random chance is how he and Finn ended up together, it seems appropriate for them to have this as their tradition. “Sounds like a great tradition to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for @jellybelly30 on tumblr


	17. 17th of December: Bauble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 17th of December: Each one of the baubles on Hiromu's Christmas tree have a story attached to them.

_ Golden bell _

“Hmm, good morning, gatito.” Hiromu’s woken with the softest little kisses to his face. He opens his eyes, and is greeted with a smiling Lee. He strokes his thumb over Hiromu’s eyebrow. Hiromu grumbles, and hides his face against the pillow. “C’mon, gatito, wake up.” Lee slips his arm under Hiromu’s waist, and pulls him closer. Hiromu grumbles again, and turns over, so his back is to Lee. “Gatito,” Lee starts kissing over Hiromu’s shoulders. “I know you’re awake, stop playing.”

“Why am I being woken up far too early? I was wrestling last night, and I’m tired, and it’s,” Hiromu gropes under his pillow for his phone, “six. For fuck sake, lemme _sleep_.” Hiromu groans, and shoves his phone back under his pillow. Lee lies over him, and starts kissing Hiromu’s neck again.

“You can have a nap later, gatito.” Lee murmurs in his ear. His arms wrap around Hiromu’s waist, and turns them over, so Hiromu’s lying on his back, with his head on Lee’s chest. “I need your help.” Lee kisses Hiormu’s temple, and smoothes his hands down Hiromu’s stomach.

“My help with what?” Hiromu relaxes against Lee’s chest.

“Ah, you’re awake then?” Hiromu turns in his arms, and kisses Lee. “Right, c’mon.” Lee slips out from underneath Hiromu, and pulls Hiromu to his feet. “We have work to do, gatito.”

“Work?” Hiromu rubs his eyes. “What work starts at six that doesn’t involve squats?” Hiromu pulls on a sweater from the pile on the floor. “You’re not gonna make me squat, are you?” Lee laughs, and wraps his arms around Hiromu’s waist.

“No, no squats.” Lee slides his hands under Hiromu’s sweater, stroking his stomach. “I need your artistic eye.” A quick kiss to Hiromu’s temple. “C’mon.” Lee takes Hiromu’s hands, and leads him out to the living room.

“There’s a tree.” Lee nods, and keeps leading Hiromu over to the tree. “And a box… of… _stuff_?”

“Decorations, gatito,” Lee spins him around, and kisses the tip of Hiromu’s nose. “Christmas tree decorations.”

“You need me to _help_?” Hiromu yawns, resting his forehead on Lee’s shoulder.

“Mmhmm,” the arms around Hiromu tighten for a moment, and more kisses are pressed to his hair. “Come, I need you more awake than this, Hiromu. Decorating the tree is very important.”

“Then you should have let me sleep some more.” Hiromu grumbles, his hands worm under the thick woollen sweater Lee’s wearing, squeezing over his firm back.

“Sleep later,” Lee tilts Hiromu’s face up, and kisses him. “I know one thing that’ll wake you up.” Lee’s hands frame Hiromu’s face, his thumbs moving over Hiromu’s cheeks.

“You’re gonna give me a good morning blowjob?” Hiromu grins, and his eyes falling closed as Lee keeps stoking his face.

“I got you coffee.” Lee kisses his forehead, and Hiromu steps back from him, a grin on his face.

“If you’re not sucking my dick, I guess coffee is almost as good.”

_ Silver and red sparkly star _

Lee’s definitely far too excited by this Christmas fayre. He keeps reaching for Hiromu’s hand, only to let it drop the moment he realises they’re in public, and that the fayre they’re wandering around is full of people who might be a little _uncomfortable_ with two fully grown men wandering around holding hands. Naito on the other hand, has no qualms with public perception, and is literally draped over Hiromu’s back, under the pretence of keeping Hiromu warm, but really, he can’t be bothered carrying his bounty.

“You gonna win Hiro anything, Lee?” Naito’s chin digs into Hiromu’s shoulder as he talks. Rush is puttering along beside them, his arms filled with the random stuffed animals he’s won for Naito.

“Don’t tease him, pareja. He’s only young, and Hiromu is less easily pleased than you.” Rush laughs. Both Lee and Naito shot him a dirty look. “Although, if you want, I can win you something, gatito.” Rush grins at Hiromu, and Lee definitely puffs up with pride.

“ _I_ can win _my_ gatito a stuffed bear, asshole.” Lee firmly grabs Hiromu’s hand, pulling him out from under Naito. “C’mon, I’m gonna win you the biggest fucking bear.” Lee’s muttering, keeping his tight grip on Hiromu’s hand.

“Cat.”

“What?” Lee stops dead, and turns to Hiromu in confusion.

“I want a stuffed cat.” Hiromu takes his hand back, and folds his arms over his chest. “ _That_ stuffed cat.” He points to the sad, saggy looking cat hanging on the wall at the nearest stall.

“This one?” Lee looks at him dubiously.

“That one.” Hiromu nods, and pays the man who runs the stall.

“Hey! I’m supposed to-“

“I can win my own cat.” Hiromu grins, and throws the ball, winning his own cat. “Now, what do you want me to win for you?”

_ Red glittery globe _

Hiromu gives the room that’s been home for what feels like forever another once over. He’s checked everywhere at least three times, he’s sure he has everything, but still, he’s checking for a forth time.

“You ready to go, gatito?” Hiromu closes his eyes, and plasters his brightest smile to his face. Lee reaches out, and swipes his thumb over Hiromu’s lips. “No fake smiles for me.” There’s an edge in Lee’s voice. Hiromu lets the smile fall away. “We need to leave, you’ll miss your flight.”

“I know, I just,” Lee slides his hand over Hiromu’s hair, and pulls him closer.

“You’ve got everything.” He tucks Hiromu under his chin. “Relax.” Lee caresses Hiromu’s back, holding him tighter. “If you’ve forgotten anything, I’ll send it to you, hmm?”

“I don’t think you can post yourself.” Hiromu mutters. Lee laughs, and kisses Hiormu’s hair.

“No, I can’t.” Lee’s cheek rests on top of Hiromu’s head. “But, I will see you again soon enough.” He tilts Hiromu’s face up, and kisses him.

“You will.” Hiromu nods, and wraps his arms around Lee’s waist. “And, I’ll beat you this time.” Lee laughs, and presses kisses to Hiromu’s neck. Hiromu kisses him, and for a moment, he rests his forehead against Lee’s. “I’m ready, let’s go.”

_ Black star – iridescent glitter _

Hiromu buys a tiny Christmas tree specifically for the apartment, and decorates it to the sound of Spanish Christmas carols, with a backtrack of Naito swearing at a baseball game.

“It’s very festive in here, Hiro.” Bushi’s arms settle on Hiromu’s shoulders. “I like it.” Bushi kisses the back of Hiromu’s head. “These all from Mexico?” Bushi fingers the baubles on the tree.

“Only a few.” Hiromu rests his head back against Bushi’s shoulder. “I got the others in the store.”

“Mmhmm,” Bushi kisses Hiromu’s head again, and reaches over, hanging a black star on the tree, near the red and silver one. “There, better.” Bushi chuckles in Hiromu’s ear. “Very festive.”

“Isn’t it though.” Hiromu turns in Bushi’s arms, and pecks him on the nose.

“We’re gonna need one for Evil and Sanada too.” Naito’s suddenly pressed against Hiromu’s back, his arms around both Hiromu and Bushi. “Purple for Evil, right?”

“In my back pocket.” Bushi squirms a little, “one for Sanada too.”

“There’s four in here.” Naito mutters, pulling out some more star baubles.

“Milano-san needed one.” Bushi mutters, plucking the white, red, and green star from Naito’s hand.

“And the white one?” Naito asks, hanging it on the tree. He laughs softly, and kisses Bushi’s cheek. “I’m sure Rush would appreciate having a star on our tree.”

_ White snowflake – missing one branch _

“I’m so sorry,” a finger runs over Hiromu’s lips. A quiet sob, and then lips press to the back of Hiromu’s hand.

“Urgh…” Hiromu’s groan is drowned out by the sound of chair legs scrapping over the floor. “I’m okay.”

“No,” Lee is staring down at the floor. “No, you’re not.”

“I’m better than I was then.” Hiromu sits up, and smiles at Lee. “C’mere, sit back down, and talk to me.”

“I don’t know what to say.” Lee drags the chair back beside Hiromu’s bed. He takes up Hiromu’s hand again, rubbing his thumb over the scar on the back of it.

“How was your reality show?” Hiromu twists his hand, and tangles their fingers together.

“It doesn’t matter.” Lee shakes his head, and raises their hands to his lips. “What matters is that I’m here, and you’re out of that hospital, and…” He trails off. “I’m _so_ sorry, gatito.”

“It was an accident.” Hiromu shifts in his bed, making space for Lee. “Why are you sitting on that chair?”

“I didn’t want to hurt you.” With his free hand, Lee moves Hiromu’s hair from his face.

“Well, now there’s a spot beside me, so come have a nap, and then,” Hiromu wraps his arms about Lee’s waist, and settles his head against his chest. “When we wake up, I’ll need your help.”

“My help?” Lee’s voice is thick with concern.

“I’ll need your artistic eye.” Lee laughs at that, and kisses Hiromu’s forehead.

“You have my eye, and any other part you need, gatito.” Another kiss to Hiromu’s forehead. “Get some sleep, gatito, and I’ll help with your tree.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for @arcanamajor on tumblr


	18. 18th of December: Antlers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 18th of December: Kenny and Kota go out to dinner with Okada and Will - nothing goes according to plan.

Kenny’s not the sort to ask questions. A lie. He is. He asks far too many questions, mostly of himself, and most them come back with negative answers, but this is irrelevant. If he was the sort to ask questions of _this_ situation, they’d all start with _what_ and end with _the hell_. Dinner after a show, is perfectly reasonable. Dinner with guys not in The Elite is perfectly reasonable. Dinner with Kota, perfect. Dinner with Kota, and Okada, a little weird, but not too bad. Dinner with Kota, Okada, and Osprey is too weird.

Osprey is sitting close to Kota, discussing the match that’s going to kill Kenny. He can hear a few snippets of the conversations. There’s talk about jumping off things, and Kenny sure he heard Kota say something about fireworks. He’s also sure Okada didn’t translate that for Osprey. He’s sure Okada is translating very loosely for most things that are being said. Kenny is grateful for that. He’s not sure that Kota and Osprey should be allowed to make plans with each other properly. They’d only encourage each other to do even more ridiculous, and dangerous things. Okada is definitely editing those things out.

“You want a drink, mate?” Osprey’s hand lands on Kenny’s shoulder.

“Uh,” Kenny shrugs.

“Kota and me are getting a round in. So, what do you want?” Osprey gives him a grin. Kenny notices Okada’s hand squeezes Osprey’s shoulder. Okada gives Kenny a look, a _be nice to my boy_.

“Orange juice.” Kenny smiles, and Kota gives him one of those awful, soul-suckingly beautiful smiles. His eyes crinkle, and his cute squint, perfectly imperfect teeth, glint in the dim light. He squeezes Kenny’s thigh, and follows Osprey up to the bar.

“You think they’ll kill each other?” Okada scoots over the booth to sit beside Kenny.

“They’ll put on a hell of a match, and I’ll meet it with mine.” Kenny scowls over at Okada. He rolls his eyes, and kicks Kenny’s ankle.

“Yeah, sure. Cheer up, Kenny, we’re not feuding.” Okada throws his arm around Kenny’s shoulders, and squeezes. “There’s nothing to discuss tonight. We’re going to get drunk, and Will is going to try and seduce Kota, and we’ll stop him, because it’s a terrible idea, and then we’ll all go home with the correct partner.”

The _what the hell_ questions have become _what the fuck_ ones. They’ve changed bars. They’ve picked up others. He’s never been less glad to see Naito, or less glad to remember that Kota and he are friends. Will seems to have decided he really likes Naito, because apparently, he translates terrible ideas more accurately.

After that bar, they head to a karaoke bar, but somewhere along the way, he loses not just Naito, and his assorted teammates, but also Kota and Osprey. He ends up with Okada, in a private karaoke room, watching a very drunk Ishii, intensely singing Elvis songs, and Yano crooning his way through enka, and drinking more than any one man should. Kenny doesn’t drink, and yet he has no idea where they picked up this two, even less idea where Makabe came from, but he shows up with a birthday cake, even though it’s nobody’s birthday, and a grin.

Okada’s wearing a smile that’s kind of blurry at the edges. His face has taken on that rosy quality that makes him look a particularly handsome farmer. He’s definitely more drunk than he seems. He’s swaying in time with the latest ballad Yano’s singing.

“You sure you don’t want a drink, Kenny?” He downs his class at Makabe’s call of _kanpai_.

“Are you sure you want _another_ drink?” Kenny asks, and takes Okada’s glass from him. “Do you know where Kota is?”

“With Naito?” Okada looks at him blankly. “Where is Naito?”

“Not here.” Kenny answers, and Okada blinks slowly.

“Hmm,” he pulls his phone from his pocket. “Will has called.” He flashes his phone at Kenny. It reads that Okada has three missed calls from Will. “I’ll phone him.” Okada calls Will, and thrusts his phone at Kenny. The call connects to a wall of laughter.

“Okada! Where are you?” Will sounds slightly drunk, and is giggling.

“We’re at a karaoke bar.” Kenny answers. He’s not giggling.

“Kenny? Where’s Okada?” Will sounds confused.

“The wrong bar apparently.” Kenny sighs, and holds the phone away from his ear so Will can hear the middle-aged crooning men.

“Huh…oh well, I’ll meet you back at the hotel, Okada.” Will is apparently drunk enough to have forgotten he’s talking to Kenny. The call ends. Kenny rubs his eyes, and sighs. He doesn’t want to think about the chaos that Kota and Will will cause. He’s sure Naito will at least be responsible enough to make sure Kota gets home, so long as he’s not wine drunk. Wine drunk is never good, especially for Naito.

“Your phone.” Kenny taps Okada’s shoulder with his phone. Drunk Okada grins at him, and takes his phone back. “He’s going to meet you back in your hotel.” Kenny decides it’s probably for the best he doesn’t question the red felt antlers Okada has acquired. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for @melicifers-angel on tumblr


	19. 19th of December: Bows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 19th of December: Desperado needs another gift for Zack - unexpectedly, the LIJ boys have his back again.

Zack has made some _improvements_ to Desperado’s apartment. There’s a string of lights around the living room window, the window itself is covered in snowflakes, and there’s a tree. An actual, real tree. It’s nice. It’s weird. The nice outweighs the weird, but it is weird.

He’s never had a Christmas tree before. Underneath it is a suspicious number of presents with his name scrawled on them. He’d been out training with The Boss, and come back to a tree. Zack had then attacked him with a strand of tinsel. He’d worn it like his tag belt as he’d helped Zack decorate the tree.

That night, after covering the tree in sparkly balls, Zack had made mulled wine, and they’d sprawled on the couch watching Zack’s favourite Christmas movies. He’d gotten slightly drunk on the warm, spicy wine, and spent most of his time rubbing Zack’s calves. He’s no idea what movies Zack was watching, but he does know that Zack makes the prettiest noises when a massage feels good.

He’s taken to switching the lights on the tree when he gets up. He likes the way they send bright streams of light all over the living room. They remind him of being in the ring, the blur of colours like the audience and his opponents. He supposes he should probably get Zack an actual present. He should also actually send Hiromu his pudding, well cake, which means he needs to find out if Hiromu is home yet. His terrible _brothers_ have seemed more cheerful lately, which makes him think that the monster has returned to his lair.

“Morning, splits.” Zack is the kind of man who flops rather than sits on a couch. He’s long, and the way he sits, means he takes up more space than is almost humanly possible. His arms, and legs are splayed everywhere. Desperado glances up from his morning yoga, and gives Zack a lazy smile.

“You’re awake early this morning.” Desperado drops his pose, and pulls his legs back in.

“The bed was suddenly cold.” Zack wraps the throw from the back of the couch around himself, and looks demandingly at Desperado.

“What a shame.” Desperado arches his back, falling backwards, he stretches his legs out. “I’m busy.”

“Busy? You call _this_ busy?” Zack laughs, and gets off the couch, taking the blanket with him. “I’m making coffee.”

“You gonna feed me too?” Desperado calls out. Zack makes a noise that might be agreeing, but it might be disagreeing, it’s hard to tell. Desperado finishes up his yoga routine. Zack comes back with two plates of food, so it was apparently ageeing. He sets them down on the coffee table. Desperado sits up from his sprawl on the floor, and picks _another_ strip of tape off the edge of the table. “Are you putting more fucking bits of tape on my table?” Desperado takes one of the plates, and starts eating.

“Would I do that?” Zack comes back with a coffee pot, and two cups.

“Yes.” Desperado pours himself a cup, and scowls at Zack. “You’re a,” he pauses for a moment, trying to summon up the word Zack uses so often, “dickhead.” He grins, pleased he remembered the right word. He knows it’s the right one, because Zack starts cackling.

“I’d resent that if it wasn’t true.” Zack blows him a kiss. “So, The Boss wants me to come down today instead of you.” Desperado nods absently, he’d asked Suzuki to only have Zack down to train. He’s going present shopping today.

“So, you need my help _again_.” Hiromu is sitting, sipping at what appears to be nothing but a mountain of whipped cream, and marshmallows. Naito is sitting beside him, a highly amused look on his face.

“What are _we_ helping with?” Naito pushes the chair opposite him out with his foot.

“I need to get Zack a Christmas present.”

“Pay up, weasel.” Naito holds his hand out, and Hiromu grumbles, pulling a banknote out of his pocket. “Thank you.” Naito folds the bill, and stuffs it in his pocket. “So, I’ll trust our extra present did the trick?” Desperado shoots the smug look on Naito’s face a filthy scowl. “What?”

“You, shut up.” Hiromu cuffs the back of Naito’s head. “So, do we have any idea one what we’re looking for?”

“I don’t know.” Desperado sighs, and stretches his legs out, tapping his foot against Hiromu’s. He gets a lazy, sweet smile from Hiromu for that. “You suggested jumpers, and I got here. So, I’m guessing you can help me out with a real present.”

“Hmm, I guess.” Hiromu sighs, and sips at his whipped cream mountain. “So, clothes are done.”

“Chocolate?” Naito asks, stealing the whipped cream mountain, and promptly getting some on his nose. Hiromu leans over, and licks it off. Desperado fidgets. He’d forgotten how much of a couple Hiromu could be with Naito.

“Vegan, dumbass.” Hiromu mutters. “Chocolate’s made with milk solids.”

“So, proper food is out then.” Naito sighs, and leans back in his chair.

“He eats proper food, but it’s not much of a present.” Desperado flags a waitress over to him. He orders a coffee, and a slice of the cake he knows Hiromu likes.

“Dildo?” Hiromu offers, and leans against Naito, rubbing his neck subtly.

“Did you take your pills?” Naito’s hand has curved around Hiromu’s neck. Desperado looks away. He wonders if he and Zack will ever be this _sappy_. He can’t see it happening, but that’s because neither of them are snugglers.

“Yes, I took my pills. It’s just cold,” Hiromu rubs his neck again, with that Naito pulls his scarf off, and winds it carefully around Hiromu’s neck.

“So, food is out, clothes are out. So, like Hiro said, dildo?” Naito turns to Desperado turns to him with a smirk.

“Fuck you.” Desperado snaps, just as the waitress comes over with Desperado’s coffee and Hiromu’s cake.

“No, no one’s fucking Naito.” Hiromu mutters, and bites off the top of whipped cream mountain.

“Well, not now at least.” Desperado laughs, and his chair gets a kick from Naito. “No food, no clothes, and _no_ dildos.”

“Hmm,” Hiromu sighs. His eyes fall closed, and he pouts slightly. He pulls his phone from his pocket, and fires off a text. “So, Mama is gonna take care of this.”

“Bushi?” Desperado stares at him blankly.

“Ah, good idea.” Naito nods, and kisses the side of Hiromu’s head. Hiromu’s phone chirps.

“He’ll have it delivered,” Hiromu grins at Desperado. “Now, go home and wait for your package. I asked him to put bows on it… I’ll put more on though. Bows are _very_ important.” Naito nods sagely along with that, and steals whipped cream mountain again, biting off some of the cream peak.

“Bows are important?” Desperado shakes his head, drains his coffee, and gets to his feet. “I’ll take your word for it, darling.” Desperado takes a hold of Hiromu’s hand, and kisses the back of it. He swears he can hear Naito planning his death as he leaves the coffee shop.

He’s home for all of an hour when there’s a knock on the door. A delivery man is on the opposite side of the door. He’s holding a box wrapped in Christmas paper, and _plastered_ with stick-on bows. Desperado takes the box from the man, expecting to be handed a bill, but all he does is nod, and leave. There’s no indication of what it is, but he’s going to trust Hiromu, and by extension Bushi, to have chosen a good gift. So far, the Los Ingobernables accidental dating agency has yet to steer him wrong.

“What’s this?” Zack pokes at the present under the tree as soon as he’s back from training with Suzuki.

“Your Christmas present, asshole.” Desperado stretches out on the couch, and smiles at Zack. He’s shaking the box, with a big, cheesy grin on his face.

“What is it, though?” Zack tugs at one of the million bows Hiromu must have stuck on the box. They’re out of place on the stylish wrapping paper, and classy ribbon on the gift.

“A surprise, noodle.” Desperado pats the couch, trying to distract from the fact he has no idea what it is either. “C’mere and sit with me.” Zack glances up at him, and shakes the box again.

“It doesn’t make a noise.”

“Maybe it’s clothes,” Desperado rolls his eyes, and stretches out on the couch.

“If it’s clothes, it’s gonna have to go some to beat the best Christmas jumper ever.” Zack’s wearing his sparkly brussel sprout jumper again. Suzuki was right when he said that Zack had taken to living in it. “Although, I guess it might something breakable and bubble wrapped.” Zack considers the box again. He steals a bow from the box, and crawls over to Desperado. He sticks the bow to Desperado’s forehead. “Whatever it is, it’s gonna have to go some to beat this present.” Zack presses a kiss to Desperado’s lips. He’s beginning to realise that he owes Hiromu an even better Christmas present now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for @elmowseperado on tumblr


	20. 20th of December: Turkey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 20th of December: Shingo is slowly, but surely, adapting to his new team.

Naito had approached him about joining first. It’d been in a drunken, joking tone. _You should change teams_. A casual arm over his shoulder, and Naito’s beer bottle clinked off his. He’d laughed along, and put it to the back of him mind. Joining Los Ingobernables de Japon was just a weird drunk comment made by a weird drunk Naito, who’d completely forgotten about it the moment Bushi and Hiromu returned with more beers, and in Hiromu’s case what appeared to be an entire watermelon carved into various animals.

It was Hiromu who mentioned it next, which was a surprise. They’d been propping up the bar with Sanada, waiting on Naito to come pick them up. Hiromu had been literally slumped on the bar-top, staring up at Shingo through his hair, a filthy grin on his face. _You know, it’d be fun to have you around all the time._ Sanada had nodded, and finished Hiromu’s drink. Naito had showed up after that, and driven them all home. It was as he got out of the car, Sanada had become the third Ingobernable to proposition him. _Hiro’s right. You’d fit in, Shingo_.

Evil was next. A different night out, in a karaoke bar of all places. Bushi and Naito were halfway through some ridiculous song from when they were kids. Evil had poured him a shot. _You should join us._ Evil is a blunt man. Shingo respects that. There’s no beating about the bush with Evil. He’d questioned it, but before Evil could answer, Hiromu had dragged him up to sing some sappy ballad with him.

Bushi hadn’t given him an option. _You’re going to tag with me. I need a partner, and Hiro needs me to have one who is big and strong. You’re big and strong. So, you’re my partner._ Bushi is not a particularly imposing man, on the surface. When he’s telling you to do something, it is very hard to not obey him. 

So, Shingo joined. He’s Bushi’s partner now. 

Naito had sent him on what could best be described as dates to get to know his new _brothers_.

First, came Sanada. A simple day in the gym. Sanada is nice. That’s the first impression Shingo is left with. He’d offered his thoughts on Shingo’s workout, and accepted his advice. They’d spent a good hour lifting heavy things together before Sanada had said anything of importance.

“So, I’m the first one you’re out with, right?” He’s spotting Shingo, glaring at the bar, watching the weights, making sure it’s not too much or too light.

“Yeah. Naito’s making sure I fit, I guess?” Shingo had managed to grind out, lifting the weight, trusting Sanada to not let it kill him if he messes up.

“Hmm.” Sanada takes the weight from him, and leans on the bar. “He wants to make sure we like you.” Not the answer he was expecting, but it’s better than it could have been. “Fucking weird if you ask me.” Without being asked, Shingo swaps places with him. “Me and Hiro wouldn’t have asked you out drinking with us, if we didn’t like you.”

“Well, that’s something.” Shingo laughs, watching Sanada lift the weight.

“It’s a lot.” Sanada sits up, and meets Shingo’s eyes. “Drinking with just Hiro and me is an honour. We drink together, and usually only together.” Sanada looks at him blankly. Shingo forces a smile. Sanada nods once. “Come and have a drink with me.”

They wind up in some hole in the wall bar, with a pretty middle-aged lady serving. She pours two glasses of wine without Sanada asking. She gives Shingo a look over, and raises her eyebrow at Sanada.

“Shingo.” Sanada tells her. She nods, and slides one over to Shingo.

“He’s different.” The lady smiles at him. “Handsome instead of cute.” She winks, and sets a little bowl of snacks down. “Does he drink as much as little Mu?”

“No one drinks as much as Hiromu.” Sanada chuckles. A pair of loud businessmen call the lady’s attention. Shingo sips at his wine. He’s watching the few people sitting at the other tables. “This is our favourite bar. Well, not Naito’s. He likes more people, but me, Hiro, and Bushi usually end up here. Mami’s a good hostess, and she always give us good wine.”

“What about Evil?” This is probably useful information to have. He’s been sent on these dates to learn about his new team, and get to know them. This little sliver of information about Sanada, Hiro, and more importantly Bushi is very useful. He needs to learn about his new tag-partner more than anyone else in the team. Sanada laughs at his question about Evil.

“Don’t tell him, I told you, but he _loves_ karaoke.” Sanada flags the hostess over, and lets her top his glass up.

“How is little Mu’s neck?” She hovers the bottle over Shingo’s glass.

“He’s out of hospital, but still sore.” She tuts at Sanada’s comment.

“And my pretty pixie?” She’s grinning when Shingo nods at her, indicating he wants some more wine.

“Bushi is well. He’s with little Mu tonight.” Sanada sips at his wine, and smiles at her happy chuckle.

“Such pretty boys.” She sighs, and sets the wine bottle down. “More importantly, how is your sugar daddy, handsome?” Sanada barks a laugh, and shakes his head.

“Mami! You’re revealing secrets our new boy has no idea of yet.” Sanada shakes his head, and gives the hostess a smile best described as dashing. “He’s very well though, thank you.” She touches Sanada’s hand lightly, and gives him a bright smile as she goes off to charm more of her customers. “Milano, before you ask.” Shingo’s surprised. He can’t really say why, but he is.

“That’s not what I was expecting.” Shingo shrugs, and takes a sip at his wine. “This place is nice.” Sanada nods, and clinks his glass against Shingo’s.

“Welcome to the team, brother.” Sanada drains his glass, bumps his shoulder against Shingo’s, and flags the hostess back over.

Date number two is with Evil. He meets him in a coffeeshop. He inclines his head, and slides a cup of coffee over to Shingo. Surprisingly, it’s his preferred order.

“Good guess.” He gives Evil as much of a smile as he thinks Evil will accept. He’s surprised by the big grin Evil gives him.

“I asked Naito.” Evil takes a drink of his coffee. “So, second date, huh?” It’s easy to forget Evil’s kind of young, and kind of nervous, until he’s grinning like an awkward kid from the other side of a table. “You know what you wanna do?” Evil fidgets, and Shingo shrugs. He’s no idea, he’d figured Evil had a plan to be honest.

“I don’t mind.” Shingo takes a drink. Evil strokes his beard. “You really didn’t plan anything?” Shingo laughs, and Evil shakes his head.

“I’m taken on dates, usually.” He laughs, and shifts in his chair. “I’m a good at following along with plans.”

“A solid second, huh?” Shingo gives him a slight smile, and finishes his drink.

“Second? No… I’m not second. I’m like,” Evil looks thoughtful, trying to think of the right word. “I’m not second.” He takes a drink, and grins at Shingo again.

“So, the leadership goes Naito, Bushi, you?” The burst of overly amused laughter wasn’t what Shingo was expecting.

“If Bushi says jump, Naito is gonna try and leap to the moon.” Evil smirks over the rim of his coffee mug. “There’s nothing Naito loves more than _his_ juniors, and there’s no one he listens to more than Bushi.”

“So, what you’re telling me is I’m teaming with the leader of LIJ?” Shingo steals Evil’s coffee, and takes a drink. It’s surprisingly sweet. Evil actually blushes.

“It’s Hiro’s favourite.” Evil swirls the coffee around in the mug, and polishes it off.

“Where does he fit into this leadership tree?” Shingo is still trying to figure out how the team works. Evil shakes his head, and laughs.

“Naito loves his juniors, but Hiro listens to Bushi. We all listen to Bushi to be fair.” Evil strokes his beard again.

“So, I really am tagging with the team leader?” Shingo laughs, and Evil nods with a grin.

“Which means, you have to take good care of him.” Evil finishes his coffee. “So, what you wanna do?”

“Another coffee?” A mundane offer, but Evil nods. “Same again?”

“Nah, an americano. I’ve no idea how Hiro manages to drink these things all day.” Evil shakes his head, staring at the remnants of his coffee with a glib smile. “I’ll see if there’s anything worth doing online, because I’m sure you don’t want to be sitting here talking to me all day.”

“Eh, you’ve got some good information to share. I need to know as much as I can.” Shingo claps him on the shoulder, and heads to buy another round of coffees.

“What do you want to know?” Evil asks when he sits back down. It’s an open question, but a reasonable one.

“Honestly? I dunno.” Shingo shrugs, and sips at his coffee. “Hey,” Shingo taps his foot against Evil’s ankle, “how about we go sing karaoke?” Evil looks at him thoughtfully for a moment, and gets up.

“Let’s go, brother.”

For date three, he’s not trusted to spend time with Hiromu alone yet. He’d known Naito was fond of his little protégé, but with him injured, Naito is almost overly protective. He’s taking Shingo to their apartment to see Hiromu as his next _date_.

“What are we watching?” Naito ushers him into the living room. Hiromu’s sitting on the couch, and far from alone. Lying with his head in Hiromu’s lap is Evil, he doesn’t acknowledge Shingo beyond a slight smile. Hiromu spares the hand that’s running through Evil’s hair to wave at him.

“It.” Bushi’s sitting on the floor on a cushion, painting Hiromu’s nails.

“The old or new one?” Shingo takes a seat on the couch near Bushi, Sanada’s on the other side of Shingo, his phone in his hand.

“New one.” Sanada answers him, and tosses him some random bag of candy. Naito groans, and doesn’t move from his spot by the door.

“Naito-san is scared of horror movies, Shingo-san.” Hiromu doesn’t look at him as he talks, his attention full on the TV. He’s not even glanced at Evil, his fingers combing through Evil’s hair lazily.

“I’m not _scared_ of horror movies.” Naito protests. It earns an almost chorus of laughter from the others.

“Then come in and watch the movie, Naito.” Bushi’s not watching the movie, not watching anything but his work on Hiromu’s nails. “I don’t like this base coat. I’m starting again.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Hiromu doesn’t seem all that interested. Naito is still lurking at the door, shifting his weight from foot to foot, and flexing his worst knee.

“Come here, you big baby.” Evil sits up, and holds his arm out. Naito doesn’t even glance at the screen on his way to hiding against Evil’s chest. Bushi glances up at Shingo, and gives him a slight smile.

“You like scary movies, brother Shingo?” Hiromu still hasn’t looked at him, his gaze still on the screen.

“I liked the Tim Curry one better, to be honest. It was much funnier.” Shingo can’t help but grin when Hiromu finally looks at him.

“It’s fun.” There’s a smile on Hiromu’s face that doesn’t match the look in his eyes. He’s a sharper thing that he’s been warned. Pretty, but dangerous, like an ornate knife. His look is evaluating, and cool. He’s not sure if he’s passing whatever test Hiromu is giving him, at least until Hiromu smiles, and turns back to the TV. “You’ve got good taste, brother Shingo.”

Date four comes, Bushi tells him they’re going to a salon over the phone. He arrives at Shingo’s home, and sits on the couch.

“You drive, right.” It’s not a question. Shingo nods. Bushi levels him with an almost haughty expression. “Get ready then.”

Shingo drives them to the salon Bushi’s chosen, and is ushered into it. A woman greets them with a broad smile, and Bushi starts a conversation that is slightly bewildering to him. He might know the words, but he’s no idea what they mean in this context. The woman levels him with a grin, and takes a firm hold of his arm.

“She gives the best facials.” Bushi pats him on the shoulder, and settles down in a chair, a different woman coming over to him to start her work.

Two hours later, Shingo’s face feels far tighter than he thought it ever could, and aches in new and exciting ways. Bushi looks radiant. Shingo has the feeling that’s going to be something he thinks very often about his new tag-partner.

“Right, next stop.” Bushi taps him on the arm, and leads him back out to the car. “My nails are a mess.” They look fine to Shingo, but he’s not going to argue.

The nail salon is quieter, and Bushi is locked in conversation with the lady tending to his hands. He keeps giving Shingo looks, oddly fond looks that have Shingo puffing up slightly.

“Sanada said he took you to Mami’s.” Bushi taps his ankle with his foot, and the nail lady looks up at that.

“Hmm, new boy must be fitting in well if he’s getting taken to the secret wine bar.” The nail lady laughs softly, and changes nail files.

“Secret wine bar?” Shingo moves his chair a little closer, and Bushi nods.

“Very much secret wine bar. Only important people get invited there,” Bushi spares his hand from his nail lady to pat Shingo’s thigh. “Milano introduced it to Sanada, and Sanada introduced it to Hiro, because whilst they’re as a like as cats and dogs, they both love good wine.”

“They seem to get along well enough.” Shingo mutters, thinking of the more than few occasions he’s seen Sanada tuck Hiromu’s hair behind his ear in a fond caress, or Hiromu tuck himself under Sanada’s arm and wrap his arms about Sanada’s waist with a content grin.

“This is because when they’re used to each other, cats and dogs can be best friends.” Bushi squeezes Shingo’s thigh, and gives his hand back to the lady. She ends up giving Shingo a manicure too, coating his nails with clear varnish.

“I had more fun than I was expecting today.” Shingo comments are he’s driving home, which gets a sage nod from Bushi.

“Next time, I’ll take you to my masseuse. He’ll work wonders for you, brother.” Bushi had gotten out of his car with a quick peck of a kiss to Shingo’s cheek, leaving him with the feeling date four had gone particularly well.

He’s not sure if being asked to check in Hiromu whilst the others are in America counts as a date, but he is glad to have a chance to talk to Hiromu a little. He’s not had the opportunity to have some one on one time with him yet.

“Brother Shingo! Come in!” Hiromu seems very happy to see him, waving from his bed. “I’m _so_ excited to see you and Bushi tag.”

“Yeah, we’ve been working on some cool stuff.” Shingo laughs, coming into Hiromu’s bedroom.

“Good, I’m looking forward to it.” Hiromu shifts awkwardly, and gestures to the other side of the bed. “Sit! You look like you need to have a chat.” Hiromu is, at least according to Naito who doesn’t shut up about him, the easiest of his new brothers to talk with. Shingo strides in, well versed in hiding nervousness behind confidence.

“I do, but I’m not sure how to broach it, to be honest.” Shingo sits down, and folds his hands in his lap.

“Gimme your hand.” Hiromu reaches out to him. Without really thinking Shingo gives Hiromu his hand. Hiromu turns it over, and studies his palm. “Hmm…” He runs a forefinger along one of the lines on Shingo’s palm. “I never paid attention to Bushi when he was trying to tell me how to read palms, but you’ve got good hands. Strong.” He laughs, but doesn’t let go of Shingo’s hand. “So, what are we broaching?”

“What’s going on with you guys?” Blurting it out seems like the best idea. Hiromu responds by raising his eyebrow. “I mean… I…” A very blank look is all he gets from Hiromu. “I _know_ I saw Naito kiss you, and he’s definitely kissed Bushi.”

“If you spend enough time with us, you’ll see him kiss Evil and Sanada too.” Hiromu smiles at him lazily.

“I don’t…” Shingo trails off, not quite understanding what Hiromu means.

“You don’t understand, hmm?” Hiromu still hasn’t let go of his hand, and is tracing over a different line. “Love is a complicated thing.” Shingo wriggles his fingers. Hiromu lets his hand go. “If you pushed him, I _think_ Naito would keep Bushi over all of us.” Hiromu smiles fondly at his own fingers. “He’d probably never even look at me again though.” He laughs at that, and grins Shingo.

“What? Why?” Hiromu seems horribly amused by the idea of Naito never seeing him again.

“Because, it would be easier to never see each than to try to stay away.” Hiromu has a very intense gaze. The only person Shingo’s ever met with a stare as intense is Naito. “We’re bound by the soul, but he’s _known_ Bushi longer. I could be wrong though… I might underestimate our connection. I’m not sure. It’s a thing though, we all kind of… _share_.”

“So, you’re telling me Naito has a hareem?” It sounds like Naito has himself a spectacular collection of handsome men who are at his disposal, which is a fairly enviable state of affairs for Naito. Hiromu laughs at him.

“It’s not a hareem, it’s a mutual appreciation for each other.” Hiromu shifts in his bed, groaning pitifully.

“You okay? Do you want me to get your pain meds?” He’s on his feet before even thinking about how panicked he feels about Hiromu’s neck.

“Tranquilo.” Hiromu laughs, flapping Shingo down. “Sit down. I just twinged it. I’m good.” Hiromu squirms again, and gives Shingo a brilliant smile. “Where was I?” Hiromu rubs his chin. “Ah! Yes, hareems!” Hiromu holds his hand out. “Gimme your hand.” Shingo sits down, and offers Hiromu his hand. “Thank you. I’m a tactile soul, I warn you now.”

“I’ve been warned.” Shingo smiles at him, and takes a hold of Hiromu’s hand. “I’m told the best thing in the world is your fondness for snuggling.”

“You’ve been speaking to Evil.” Hiromu chuckles.

“Of course, he speaks highly of your cuddliness.” That gets a _hmm_ from Hiromu.

“He loves me, as much as I love him, and I love him a lot.” Hiromu smiles at him, and shifts on his bed. “Sit closer.” Shingo scoots over, pressing himself closer to Hiromu. He takes hold of Shingo’s arm, and wraps it around his waist. “So, you need to talk about the team rules?” Shingo finds himself stroking Hiromu’s side through his t-shirt.

“There’s rules?” He laughs. Hiromu moves closer, resting against his side.

“There are rules.” He starts fussing with how Shingo’s sitting, and manages to rearrange them so he’s sitting between Shingo’s legs, his back on Shingo’s chest. “They’re not hard though.” He collects Shingo’s hands, and settles them on his stomach.

“Number one is what? Snuggling with Hiromu is mandatory?”

“No… it should be though.” Hiromu sounds very pleased with himself, and squirms just a little, settling himself more comfortably. “I made you a book.”

“A rulebook?” Shingo’s hands have taken a life of their own, and have wormed under Hiormu’s shirt to pet his skin. He’d been warned Hiromu was snuggly and hard to resist. He’d foolishly given himself more credit for his ability to resist snuggle-monsters.

“Of course. I’ll give it to you later. Now, you wanna watch this movie with me?” Shingo hadn’t noticed there was a paused movie on the TV attached to the wall.

“I’d love to, brother.” He settles himself more comfortably beneath Hiromu, and presses play on the just within his reach remote.

_Rule one: Listen to Bushi – even if what he says contradicts Naito, **listen to Bushi**_

_Rule two: Protect Bushi – even when he says he doesn’t need protecting, that is the **only time** you can ignore him._

_Rule three: Naito has a pain kink – be warned_

_Rule four – Evil is a big teddy bear – he likes cuddles AND karaoke!_

_Rule five – If Sanada invites you to drink wine – drink wine with him, he needs to talk about something_

_Rule six – Milano-san is very nice – be kind to him_

_Rule seven – Rush-san gives good advice – ask him for help_

_Rule eight – Be nice to Hiromu - please =^-^=_

Hiromu’s rules came with Shingo on each of the tours he’s been on, and he’s been trying to follow them as best he can. Number one and two have had his most attention, the others haven’t been too important. He thinks they might be now that they’re done until Wrestle Kingdom. He’s been invited over to the apartment his new team shares more and more. He’s been invited to the mess of tangled limbs, and gentle caresses that seem to happen more often than not. More importantly than that, he’s shared a bed with Bushi, an arm around his waist, and careful kisses to the crown of his head. It’s all very strange still. His new team, his _brothers_ , are very close and he’s not quite used to be so very close to one person, let alone five of them.

He’d been invited to Christmas dinner in a definitive way. Bushi had taken him to the salon and told him Hiromu was cooking, and that he’d better be there. So, there he is. A case of beer, and a bag of present coming with him. Shingo fidgets in the car beside Naito, he’s been doing it a lot since his old friend had picked him up. Naito is the only one of them he’s not had a _date_ with. Sure, they’ve gone out drinking and eating just the two of them, but they’ve always done that. It doesn’t feel like a proper date-date, just a normal night out with Naito.

“You okay?” Naito glances over at him. It’s hard to say if the slight pout Naito is wearing is concern or annoyance at the slow driver in front of him.

“I’m good.” Shingo isn’t so much lying as not telling the full truth. He’s okay-ish. He’s a little nervous about spending Christmas with them, but not for any real reason other than it’s going to be them and him. His new team are very much a unit, and he’s still kind of on the edges of it. Hiromu had mentioned that would change with initiation, but he’s still not entirely sure what that is, because getting answers out of Hiromu is like talking to a sphinx on occasion. Naito reaches over, and pats Shingo’s thigh.

“You know, it’ll be okay, right? We’re all right here for you, brother.” Naito gives him a smile. Shingo’s known him for a _long_ time, but he’s never seen that one before. Well, he has, it’s just it’s only for Naito’s beloved brothers, but, he supposes he’s one of them now.

“I know.” Shingo smiles back, and sets his hand on top of Naito’s. “Thanks.”

The first thing Shingo notices in the apartment is there is a new pair of slippers. Bright green, fuzzy dragon feet slippers. Naito tosses them down to the floor for him, and leaves him to change his shoes. He spares a glance for the shoe rack. There are several pairs of slippers on it. Each of them are very different, and Shingo can guess which pair belongs to who, although the nice leather ones throw him a little.

“Did Naito give you your slippers?” Bushi smiles at him from the living room door. He takes the case of beer from him, and leads the way to the kitchen.

“Yeah, he did.” Shingo taps his feet so the claws on the end of the feet clack on the floor. “I like them.”

“I knew you would.” Bushi smiles, and pushes open the kitchen door. “Hey, baby, you need some help?” Bushi walks up behind Hiromu, settling his arms around his waist, and kissing the back of Hiromu’s neck.

“Hey, mama.” Hiromu doesn’t look up from the pot he’s stirring. “Go away. If I need help, I’ll draft in Evil. You take Shingo-san, and watch TV till dinner’s ready.”

“Can I stick this in the fridge?” Shingo holds the case of beer up, and shakes it slightly. Hiromu looks up from his pot.

“Course, you know where the fridge is.” He gestures with his wooden spoon towards the fridge. On it is a little white board, written on it genuinely is a rota for spending the night with Hiromu. His name is there, but there’s not a day written in under it yet. He wonders if he’ll get a night after his unknown initiation. “Now, both of you get out of my kitchen.” Hiromu shrugs Bushi off his shoulders.

“C’mon you.” Bushi waves Shingo out of the kitchen, back to the living room.

“So, is the mama thing a kink, or just a thing?” Shingo asks, and Bushi laughs at him.

“Just a thing, don’t worry.” Bushi taps his nose, and smiles fondly, catching hold of Shingo’s hands to lead him into the living room properly. Naito’s sitting beside Evil, his head on Evil’s shoulder. He looks mostly asleep, ignoring the movie Evil’s watching. Shingo sits down beside him, not saying anything when Naito swaps Evil’s shoulder for his own. Cautiously, Shingo settles his arm around Naito, and rubs his thumb over his collarbone. He’d never noticed how nice Naito’s hair smelled before, or how soft his skin is, he might appreciate these snuggling piles more than he’d anticipated. Bushi flops down on Shingo’s other side, and grins at him. “Rule nine, Naito gravitates to the warmest person every time.”

“I’m almost resentful.” Evil mutters, and leans against Naito. “He was keeping me warm.” For a long while there’s no conversation, just the sound of the TV, and Hiromu singing to himself in the kitchen. Then, the sound of hard-soled slippers, and the living room door opening.

“Where is the little demon?” Shingo glances over at the door, and in walks Milano, carrying a very expensive looking takeaway box, wearing the least fancy thing he’s ever seen him in. The sweater is somehow covered in snowflakes, and stylish, if not elegant, which makes it almost out of place on Milano.

“Kitchen!” Hiromu calls from the kitchen, and Milano heads that way. Sanada and a ridiculous number of bags comes in after him.

“I swear, he forgets he’s not fucking all of you assholes, so he doesn’t need to spoil you too.” Sanada mutters, and sets the bags down on the coffee table.

“I remember just fine, boy.” Milano scuffs the back of Sanada’s head, and hands him a glass of wine. “Now, let me give out the not present presents.” He starts rooting through the bags. “Mama-Bushi, your Florentines.” Bushi accepts the posh box with a smile, and opens them.

“You want one, Shingo?” Bushi offers the open box to Shingo. He’s never had one before, but he’s not going to turn down the offer.

“Thanks.” He pops the candy into his mouth whole, and regrets it. He should have savoured this. It’s delicious.

“Biscotti for Evil,” Milano hands a different box to Evil, who doesn’t open it, but thanks Milano with a smile. “And torrone for you, scruff-pot.” Milano tosses a bag at Naito.

“You get another tiramisu for Hiro?” Naito asks, opening his bag, and eating something out of it without offering it around.

“No, something new this year. Panna cotta, which I’m certain he’ll adore.” Milano hands Shingo a bag filled with coffee beans. “I wasn’t sure what you’d like, so I went with something I know everyone enjoys.”

“I didn’t know what to get you either, Milano-san.” Shingo gives a slightly awkward smile, and sets the coffee down on the table. He hopes the scarf he’d picked out will be suitable, but he had asked Bushi’s opinion on it, so he’s sure it’ll be okay.

“Evil! C’mere and help me.” Hiromu sounds stressed, and Evil is gone before Hiromu can finish calling on him.

“You need more hands?” Naito shouts, and gets a loud no from Evil. “Why does no-one ever want my help in the kitchen?” Naito gripes, eating more of the white candy Milano gave him.

“We don’t need your help in the kitchen, but you can stop eating candy, and come eat some real food.” Evil pokes his head into the living room, and laughs at Naito’s gleeful grin.

The dining room table is covered in food, in the middle is an enormous turkey, that Hiromu is busy carving. Naito grabs the seat nearest Hiromu, pausing to press a kiss to his cheek first. Bushi follows Naito’s lead, kisses Hiromu’s other cheek, and sits down on the other side of Naito.

“Do you need help serving up?” Evil asks quietly, standing behind Hiromu, his lips against Hiromu’s hair, his hands on Hiromu’s waist for a moment.

“I’m good, sit down.” Hiromu smiles at him, and Evil does as he’s told, sitting in the empty chair opposite Hiromu. Sanada doesn’t say anything, he just walks up to Hiromu, kisses his temple, and sits down opposite Bushi. Milano ruffles Hiromu’s hair, then sits by Sanada. “Sit down, Shingo.” Hiromu looks up from his carved turkey, and gestures to the only other empty chair. Shingo nervously approaches Hiromu, uncertain if he’s allowed to give him a kiss like the others. Hiromu makes the decision for him. He kisses the tip of Shingo’s nose, and puts some turkey on his plate. “Now, eat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for @beefymeninlove on tumblr


	21. 21st of December: Solstice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 21st of December: When Kota decides to climb a mountain, Kenny can't help but follow.

“Not far now.” Kota has been saying that for the last two hours, and the top of the mountain they’re climbing never seems to be getting any closer. Kenny’s over being charmed by how delighted Kota is with the snow and ice, and now he’s cold, tired and painfully aware of the fact that the rest of the crew are equally cold and tired. He can hear Matt and Nick grumbling under their breaths. He can smell the little fireball Marty had summoned an hour ago to keep he and Page warmer. He can feel the weight of Cody’s assessing gaze, and heavier still Chase’s disillusioned one. He’s not sure when _hey guys my boyfriend wants to climb a mountain in a blizzard_ became an order and not a statement, but at some stage it did.

“Are we actually any nearer to the top?” Matt’s teeth are chattering as he asks. Kenny gives him what he thinks is a winning smile. Matt gives him a blank look. Nick starts walking closer to his brother. Kenny speeds up, catching up to Kota.

“Honestly, how much farther?” His High Fey is clumsy, but he knows that none of the others can speak even a lick of it. Kota turns to him with his ever-beatific smile.

“Not far.” Kenny sighs at that, and rubs his forehead.

“They’re tired, and cold, Kota.” Kenny tries using the rest of the team as a reason to stop. Kota _looks_ at him.

“I didn’t invite them.” He sniffs, and turns away from Kenny. “As I recall, I said I was going to the gate, I didn’t invite any of you.”

“I only just got you back,” Kenny holds his hand up, stopping Kota from asking whose fault them being apart was, “I don’t want to lose you again.”

“Then you could have left your friends behind.” Kota flips his cloak over his shoulder, and walks with more purpose. “It’s not far now, maybe twenty more minutes.” He calls out loudly enough for the trailing party to hear. A murmuring is all he gets in response. Twenty minutes of mountain seems like a life time. Kenny falls back in step with Matt and Nick.

“Do you even know why he wants to climb this mountain?” Nick sounds less cold than Matt, but he always seems better protected against it than his older brother.

“There’s a gate up there.” Marty, and his fireball, catch up to them. He’s beginning to look tired, but keeping that fireball around has to be exhausting.

“A gate?” Matt groans. “We’re coming all this way, just so we can camp on the top of a mountain and wait for Ibushi to come back for visiting home?”

“ _If_ he comes back.” Cody chimes in, his voice tinged with something sharp and caustic. Kenny cracks his jaw, and considers how likely it would be for Cody to die of hyperthermia if he knocked him out and left him on the side of the mountain.

“It’s the Winter Solstice today, isn’t it?” Chase has caught up to them, his attention solely on stepping in Kota’s footsteps. He seems cold, but not too tired, he might have the best idea when it comes to following Kota’s path.

“It is,” Kota turns back to him. “I need to get home for the celebrations.” He looks back at the path. “You’re all invited, of course, _because you’re here anyway_ ,” he tacks the last part on in High Fey, so only Kenny can understand. Kenny plasters a bright smile to his face.

“Sounds like fun.” Kota doesn’t reply to that.

The top of the mountain is shimmery. That’s the only thing Kenny can think of when they _finally_ arrive. The gate’s presence isn’t obvious other than the shimmering, and the feeling in the air; old, and eldritch. This place is steeped in ancient and dangerous magic. There are more gods than just Tanahashi, and places like this make for good reminders that Love and Energy aren’t the only gods that have sway in any realm.

Kota starts fussing at the shimmering air, and then spreads his arms wide, turning to them with a grin. Behind him, the capital of the Fey Kingdom in all of its sprawling glory, decorated with delicate icy ornaments.

“Welcome, friends!” He beckons them through the shimmering gate. “It’s weak during the solstices.” He assures them. Chase is the first to cross. Kota claps him on the shoulder, and holds his hand out to Kenny. “C’mon, it’s okay.” Kenny takes his hand, and passes through the gate. All of his exhaustion, and coldness, is washed away. He waves the others through. It seems safe enough.

Kota is welcomed back like the returning prince he is. Random people smile at him in delight, and he’s gifted with warm cups of steaming cider, and sweet pastries, that end up getting passed throughout the party. Kenny sticks close to Kota’s side, not entirely trusting him to not get lost. Kota’s sense of direction is terrible when he has more than one to chose from. Thankfully, it seems that the city itself knows that Kota isn’t good with directions. A glittering path of tiny golden stars manifests in front of him, guiding him to where he needs to be.

“Ah, Golden Star!” The path leads them to the centre of town, to dais where Tanahashi, the most approachable of all the old gods, stands waiting for him. Kota steps forward, up onto the dais. His dull travel clothes are replaced in a flash of light. He greets Tanahashi with a hug, clad in brilliant white, with touches of sky blue, and a liberal sprinkling of gold. “I see you brought your humans.” Tanahashi does not like Kenny. He’s never been sure why, and has always resented being disliked by a god of love. He thinks it might be something to do with breaking Kota’s heart, but that’s truly none of Tanahashi’s business.

“Of course, Winter Solstice is an important event,” Kota smiles fondly at Tanahashi, and Kenny can _feel_ the scowl on his face.

It takes _far_ too long to get ready for what turns out to a ball to celebrate the Winter Solstice. Kenny’s persuaded to wear some strange Fey outfit that he thinks is nowhere near warm enough for the weather, but at least makes him look good. The others in the party are given new outfits more appropriate for what they are. The only one who seems slightly dissatisfied is Marty, but that’s probably because he likes his feathered coat far more than he likes proper wizarding robes.

“Kota,” Kenny turns at the first voice to greet he and Kota upon entering the beautiful plaza set aside for the festivities. An old friend of Kota’s is standing there, his assorted band of weirdos around him. Kota hugs him tightly.

“Naito! It’s good to see you.” Kota holds him out at arms-length. “I’m surprised you’re here after… well…” Naito laughs at that, and shakes his head.

“Who can speak to the whims of gods, hmm?” His pixie ally offers as a response to Kota’s comment. “It’s unexpected to see your human, Golden Star.” Kenny hopes he hides his wince at that. He dislikes being referred to as Kota’s human, and he dislikes even more people referring to Kota by his title.

“Who can speak to the whims of the heart.” Kota grins at the masked pixie, and runs his eyes over Naito’s assorted group. “Where’s your scarf?” Naito laughs again.

“He’s working,” Naito inclines his head, “but I’m sure we’ll all get some good use out of his hard work.” The mismatched group take their leave.

“I’m starving,” Chase breaks the awkward silence that was reigning over them. “Anyone wanna hit up the buffet?” The rest of the party follow him, heading for one of the many tables covered in dainty food.

“Hey,” Kota whispers in Kenny’s ear. “You wanna dance with me?”

“Go on then.” Kenny gives him a smile, and Kota takes his hand, leading Kenny out onto the dance floor. The song playing is slow and elegant, lending itself to a slow waltz. Kota takes the lead, moving them smoothly along the floor, trusting Kenny to follow in his footsteps. Kenny closes his eyes, letting everything else fall from his mind. The only thing that’s important is the warmth of Kota’s body against his.

“Are you having fun?” Kota asks him softly. Kenny rests his head against Kota’s, slowing their dance to a vague, shuffling circle.

“Of course.” He opens his eyes, and kisses Kota lightly. The slow song ends, and the band starts up something fast, and jumpy. Kenny drags them off the dancefloor, not wanting to be caught up in the faster dance. Kota takes his hand, and starts leading the way to the edge of the party, where there are fewer people, and the pretty icy flowers are easier to see.

“I didn’t think you’d want to come if I told you why I was going up the mountain.” Kota says suddenly. He’s watching the dancers on the floor. Mostly demons, but that’s because as a species they’re more inclined towards the more lively dances. He can see Naito being dragged through the moves to this one by his pixie, his _scarf_ , actually a demon with the habit of riding on Naito’s shoulders, is on the band stand, playing the fiddle. On the edge of the dance, Matt and Nick are trying to work out how it goes. Marty and Page are still at the food table, some wizard Marty’s known for years talking to them, his demon companion at his side. Cody is in the middle of the dance with his wood nyphm wife, spinning her around and laughing. Chase is talking with a group of what looks like fire nymphs, and seems to be having a whale of a time.

“I probably wouldn’t,” Kenny smiles over at Kota. “I’m glad you didn’t tell me.” He slides a hand into Kota’s hair, and kisses him properly. “Happy Winter Solstice.” Kota nods, and kisses him again. The song changes, something slower, and more familiar. “Let me lead this one, okay?” Kota takes his hand, and this time, he follows Kenny’s steps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for @little-miss-brownstone on tumblr


	22. 22nd of December: Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 22nd of December: Naito is never very good at choosing what he wants for Christmas, but this year he knows, and he wants it early.

The question _what do you want for Christmas_ isn’t a problem if you’re not someone who celebrates the holiday. It becomes a problem when you’re kind of, sort of with someone who does. Every year, Rush asks this question of Naito, and every year he shrugs vaguely and says nothing really. Every year he gets something, but he never actually offers any real input. This year, he knows what he wants. He’s known ever since he found out what Hiromu’s return to Japan schedule is. He’ll be back for Christmas, which means he wants an early Christmas present, but also means he has to bring up the fact he wants an early Christmas present, with not just Rush, but Hiromu as well. 

He’s been putting it off. He’s been revelling in spending time with Rush in Mexico, because that’s _always_ the best. Rush is very different to the men Naito usually spends his time with. Bushi is dainty, commanding but dainty. Evil is big, but not commanding at all. Sanada isn’t comfortable with the whole idea of anything, and it seems rude to steal his attention from Milano, who is doing his damnedest to seduce him. Rush is different; big and strong, like Evil, but commanding, like Bushi. He’s a perfect blend of the things Naito likes best about them both. It just sucks that Mexico is so far away, and Rush is disinclined to leave it, even for his pareja. Hiromu is nothing like any of them. Hiromu is gentle, soft and cuddly, but teasing and utterly exhausting. It’s a mix of them he wants for Christmas.

“Something’s on your mind, pareja.” Rush kisses Naito’s temple. It’s not a question, and not exactly the sort of after sex conversation it sounds like Rush wants to have.

“Hmm,” Naito turns to lie on his side, and combs his fingers through Rush’s hair. “I’ve been thinking.”

“Well, shit,” Rush laughs, and tugs Naito closer. “Nothing good comes from you thinking.” Another kiss to Naito’s temple.

“Hiromu will need his initiation before he leaves.” That catches Rush’s attention. He raises his eyebrow, and levels Naito with a look.

“He will,” Rush pulls away a little, considering Naito thoughtfully. “It’ll be strange, you know. He and my brother are very _close_.”

“I know.” Naito’s sure his tone was a shade too snippy there. He knows exactly how close Hiromu and Dragon Lee are, and whilst he doesn’t disapprove, he’s not sure he exactly approves either. He’s spoken at length with Evil about it, and Evil is infuriatingly ambivalent about the whole thing.

_“You know how he is, Naito. Hiromu is more open with his affection than most people.”_

_“They’re fucking, Evil.”_

_“Hmm, and he’s fucked you, and me, and really if he put some effort in, he’d probably have fucked half of Mexico by now. Sex isn’t a big deal with Hiromu.”_

_“No, but… they sleep together.”_

_“Ah.”_

_“Exactly.”_

_“Well, he’ll be home soon.”_

The soon can’t come soon enough.

“Then, you’ll know that it’ll be,” Rush pauses, and flops onto his back, “weird for me to play with my brother’s gatito.”

“I know.” Naito rests his chin on Rush’s chest and stares up at him, “but, it’s what I want for Christmas.” Rush laughs at that.

“You’re thinking of Christmas early this year, Naito.” Rush rubs his cheek thoughtfully. “So, you want Hiromu to be part of the family for Christmas? This doesn’t seem like much of a present for you.”

“I want to watch.”

“What? Initiation is private, pareja, you know that.” Rush sounds confused, and Naito shifts so he’s looking Rush straight in the eye.

“I want to watch you fuck Hiromu,” Naito’s never seen Rush blush before, and it’s ridiculously charming. “That is the Christmas present I want this year.” Rush screws his mouth a little, his eyebrows drawn.

“Ask him.” He says at great length. “If Hiromu agrees that you can watch his initiation, then you get your Christmas present, otherwise I’ll give you socks.” Naito grins, and seals the deal with a vigorous kiss.

He’d expected asking this of Hiromu to be easy, but every time he tries, he chickens out. An initiation into Los Ingobernables is a private thing. A night alone with each member. Sex isn’t a requirement, but so far, Rush has yet to decline an evening with any of the De Japon recruits. He’s complimented Naito on his fine taste several times. Naito will admit his fine taste is one of his strongest assets. He’s running out of time to raise this difficult conversation with Hiromu though. He’s not usually the sort to have difficulty in finding ways to ask difficult questions, especially with Hiromu. Their relationship is special, different to any he’s had with anyone else. It might be that he was the first person to ever take Hiromu. It might be that he was Hiromu’s mentor. It might simply be that they know each other, beyond the knowing of teacher and student, beyond the knowing of friends, or brothers, he _knows_ Hiromu, and he knows this request will make him uncomfortable. So, he needs a reason beyond _it’ll give me jack-off material for life_. He needs to find the real reason he wants to see Rush and Hiromu having sex, but really, he’s beginning to think it might just be that his dick really likes the idea.

Hiromu looks busy, the kitchen is filling with steam as he pokes at pots on the stove, when Naito tracks him down. He’s only got a few days left in Mexico, only a few days left to raise the initiation, and Naito watching said initiation, issue with Hiromu. He’s not looking forward to the conversation.

“You want some of this?” Hiromu hasn’t turned around, but he seems to know Naito’s there. Naito sits down at the table, and rests his chin in his hands. The nervous young lion Hiromu had been is long gone, the man cooking in front of him is filled with confidence. “I can hear you staring at me.” Naito hides a grin against his palm.

“Yeah, go on, feed me.” Naito leans back in his chair, and watches Hiromu dish up.

“So, you wanna tell me what’s on your mind?”

“What makes you ask?” Naito glances up from the bowl Hiromu had set in front of him. Hiromu raises an eyebrow, and pointedly eats some more food. “I’m that subtle?” Another pointed bite. “You’re coming home soon.”

“I’ve heard.” Hiromu grins. “I’m looking forward to it.” He sets his chopsticks down, and bows his head a little. “I miss being at home sometimes, I miss…” He sighs, and shakes his head. “It’ll be fun to be back in a New Japan ring.” A brilliantly fake smile is plastered on his face. Naito reaches of the table, and touches his hand.

“We miss you too, idiot.” Hiromu smiles properly at that, and slips his hand from underneath Naito’s. He starts eating again. “I want you to join LIJ.” Both of Hiromu’s eyebrows raise at that, like he wasn’t expecting what had seem inevitable to him. He can’t have thought that Naito would let him join any other faction.

“You’re sure?” Mumbled around a mouthful of food. Bushi is going to have a field day training etiquette into Hiromu.

“Why would I let anyone else have you? If nothing else, Evil would kill me.” Hiromu laughs at that, his head bobbing slightly in agreement.

“So, what’s on your mind, Naito-san?” Hiromu starts eating again, his attention on his bowl. Naito pokes at the food, and considers what to say.

“To join, you’ll need an initiation,” Naito sets his chopsticks down, and considers Hiromu carefully.

“I know.” Hiromu nods. Naito changes chairs, and sits beside Hiromu. He takes hold of the closest of Hiromu’s hands. “Naito?”

“Do you know what the initiation is?” Hiromu looks over at him. Naito catches his chin, and rests his forehead against Hiromu. “A night with each member of the team.”

“I know.” Hiromu sounds slightly suspicious. Naito rubs his nose against Hiromu’s, and kisses him. “Why are you being so serious about this? Rush already said that it doesn’t have to be sex.”

“I want to watch him fuck you.” Naito keeps a hold of Hiromu, expecting him to pull away from him. He doesn’t pull away, but he does freeze. The typical nervous Hiromu response. “You can say no, Hiromu, you know that.”

“I know.” Hiromu murmurs. He pulls away from Naito, and pushes away from the table. “Let me think about it.”

“I lea-“

“I know.” Hiromu interrupts him, then leaves the kitchen.

“Pareja, did you ever speak to Hiromu?” Rush is pressed against his back, his thumb rubbing over Naito’s hip. A usual arrangement for them after sex.

“I did.”

“What did he say?” Rush starts kissing over Naito’s shoulders.

“That he’d think about it.” Rush tuts from behind Naito, and squeezes Naito’s hip. “He’ll make his decision soon enough, if there’s one thing you can rely on Hiromu for it’s making quick decisions.”

The next morning, Hiromu is in the kitchen again, cooking once more. Naito takes a seat at the table, watching Hiromu’s back, the way his muscles move underneath the shirt he’s wearing. His little student has developed well. He’s grown into something beautiful.

“You want some of this?” Hiromu asks softly. Naito stands up, and sets two plates down by the stove. “Is tonight okay for my initiation?” Hiromu serves up breakfast. Naito kisses Hiromu’s temple.

“Of course,” Naito turns Hiromu around, and kisses him properly. Hiro moans into the kiss, hands tangling Naito’s hair. “I’ll let Rush know.”

“I know, is there any breakfast for me?” Rush’s arms wrap around both Naito and Hiromu, kissing Naito’s hair, and stealing some food from one of the plates.

That night, Hiromu arrives to Rush’s bedroom with a nervous little smile on his face. Naito runs his hand through Hiromu’s hair, and kisses the tip of his nose.

“It’s okay, you can still change your mind, little weasel.” Naito murmurs into Hiromu’s ear. He shakes his head, and kisses Naito again.

“I don’t remember there being any request for audience participation, pareja.” Rush laughs, and slides a hand between Naito and Hiromu. “Go on, shoo. Sit down, Naito.” Rush kisses Naito softly, and smacks his ass as Naito heads to the chair pushed against the wall, opposite the bed.

Naito settles in the chair, and waits. Rush leans in close to Hiromu, and says something in his ear, that has Hiro pulling his trying very hard to not die of laughter face, Rush says something else, and Hiromu cracks up. His shoulders shaking as he laughs. Rush gives Hiro a smile that he can’t see because he all but doubled over. It’s a fond smile, gentle and warm. Rush looks over at Naito, that smile not changing at all.

“You’re sure you’re just watching, pareja?” Naito nods rather than answers. Rush shrugs, and returns his attention to Hiromu. “So, little brother, your initiation?” Hiro nods, and his whole demeanour changes. He’s straightened, his shoulders squared. With his back to Naito, it’s hard to see exactly what’s going on between both he and Rush. Rush’s hands smooth down Hiromu’s hair, across his shoulders, and down his arms, taking hold of his hands. “It’s okay, nothing serious, right?” Hiromu nods. Rush leans closer, and moment later, Hiromu’s hands are on his head, pulling him down into a kiss. One of Rush’s arms wraps about Hiromu’s waist, the hand of the other slides into his hair. The hand around Hiromu’s waist slides up under Hiromu’s shirt, moving slowly up and down, rubbing the visible tension out of Hiromu’s shoulders. “You’re sure you’re okay with, Hiromu?” Rush askes, from the way Hiromu leans his head to one side, Rush must be stroking his cheek.

“I’m sure, Rush-san.” Hiromu kisses Rush, and steps away from him, pulling his shirt off. Rush laughs, and rubs Hiromu’s back.

“Aren’t you enthusiastic?” Rush pulls his shirt off, and draws Hiromu closer. He rests his chin on top of Hiromu’s head, and smirks at Naito. “We look good, hmm?” Naito shifts on his chair.

“Very good. Hurry up, and initiate _my_ little weasel.” Rush laughs at him, and trails his hands down Hiromu’s back, and squeezes his ass. “He’s a tight little thing, you need to open him up carefully, and don’t tell me you know.” Rush laughs again.

“I am right here,” Hiromu steps away from Rush, and shucks his pants. He flops onto his back, and stretches out on the bed. “Where’s your lube?” Rush tosses him the bottle, and comes over to Naito. He pulls his pants off, and slides his hand into Naito’s hair.

“Suck me, and lemme watch this pretty little show.” Out of the corner of his eye, Naito can see Hiromu fingering himself. Naito’s torn between trying to see Hiromu playing with himself, or concentrating on sucking Rush. He moves his head, taking all Rush’s cock fully into his throat. Rush pulls away, and approaches the bed. “Pass me the lube.” Rush settles between Hiromu’s thighs, blocking Naito’s view of what’s happening. Hiromu makes the most beautiful keen of a sound Naito’s ever heard from him, as Rush snaps his hips forward. He must have just penetrated Hiromu. Rush starts taking Hiromu, driving his hips deeply into him, only to slowly withdraw. Hiromu’s moaning gently, his fingers flexing on Rush’s shoulders. Naito’s cock is enjoying the show as much as he’d known it would. He’s glad he’s only wearing shorts, that are easily removed.

“Throw me the lube, will you?” Naito calls out, and the tube is thrown at him by a very distracted Hiromu.

“Sorry if I hit you, Naito.” Hiromu calls out, his words dissolve into a moan. Rush chuckles, and Hiromu moans again. Naito coats his hand in lube, and starts fisting his length, watching the two men on the bed. Rush’s thick body moving between Hiromu’s thighs. Hiromu’s heels digging into Rush’s back. Hiromu’s hands clutching at Rush’s broad shoulders, moaning softly as he’s taken by Rush. Suddenly, Rush pulls out of Hiromu, and gets off the bed. Hiromu stretches out on the bed, arching his back, staring at Naito.

“Rush had a good idea about giving you more of a show.” Hiromu starts stroking his cock slowly. Rush grins at him, coming over to Naito.

“Gimme that lube, pareja.” Naito hands the lube up to Rush, enjoying the show Rush makes of coating his cock with more lube. “C’mere, little weasel.” Rush turns to Hiromu, beckoning him over. Hiromu rolls off the bed, and wraps his arms around Rush’s neck, kissing him enthusiastically. Rush trails his hand behind Hiromu, fingering his asshole. Rush pulls away from him, and strokes his cock again. “Alright?” Hiromu takes a step back, and jumps up, wrapping his legs around Rush’s waist. Rush guides his cock inside Hiromu. He takes a firm hold of Hiromu’s thighs, and starts fucking him again. Naito’s at once surprised, and enthralled by the show of strength Rush is giving him. Hiromu’s clinging to Rush, moving as much as he can. Naito can hear Rush murmuring to Hiromu, he can’t make the words out, but he can hear the tone; low and deep. Hiromu is moaning quietly in time with Rush’s thrusts, his head falls forward to Rush’s shoulder.

“Fuck,” Hiromu pants low and constant as Rush pounds up into him. “I wanna ride you.” Hiromu moans suddenly, and Rush deposits him back on the bed. Rush lays on the bed, and Hiromu straddles his thighs, reaching behind him, guiding Rush’s cock back inside him. Rush’s hands fall immediately to Hiromu’s waist, holding him tightly. Naito thrusts up into his hand, watching Hiromu riding Rush’s cock. He’d expected them to look good together, he’d not expected them to look _this_ good together. He’ll keep the memories of this night with him forever. The way Rush can dwarf Hiromu, the way he touches him like he’s precious, the way Hiromu touches Rush like he’s a god. If only Hiromu and Rush’s little brother weren’t so much of a thing, then Naito could have this more than once, but once will be enough.

“You look close, little weasel,” Rush pulls Hiromu down into a kiss, his hips snapping up against Hiromu’s ass. “You wanna come?”

“Rush, please.” Hiromu gasps, and Rush takes his cock in his hand, moving it quickly, squeezing the length. Naito matches Rush’s pace on his own cock, smearing his leaking pre-cum along the length of his cock. Hiromu shivers, his head falling back as he comes. Rush trails a finger through Hiromu’s cum on his stomach, and swipes it over Hiro’s lips. Hiromu’s tongue darts over his lips, lapping his cum from them. Rush takes a firm hold of Hiromu’s hips, driving his cock up into Hiromu, pulling him down into each thrust. Rush’s orgasm hits, and Naito swears he can see bruises forming on Hiromu’s hips. Hiromu collapses against Rush’s chest, and Rush’s hands slowly run up and down Hiromu’s back. Naito speeds his hand up, chasing his end. It comes just as Hiromu leans up to press a lazy, indulgent kiss to Rush’s lips. For a moment, Naito catches his breath on the chair, and then he stumbles over to the bed. Hiromu grumbles when Naito slips his arm around his waist. Rush smiles at Naito, and strokes his cheek.

“Merry Christmas.” He mouths, and rubs his thumb over Naito’s lips. Hiromu grumbles again, and squirms between them.

“Sticky.” He whines, trying to wriggle out of their arms.

“Eh, we can shower in the morning, little weasel.” Rush tilts Hiromu’s face up, and kisses him.

“No,” Naito chuckles, and ruffles Hiromu’s hair. “He won’t stay put for the night if he doesn’t shower now.” Rush raises an eyebrow at him. Naito gets off the bed, and stretches.

“It’s a sign of appreciation that I’m inviting you to shower with me.” Hiromu clambers off the bed, and snuggles up to Naito.

“This is true,” Naito cups Hiromu’s cheek and kisses him. “If he didn’t appreciate his fucking, he’d pretend to fall asleep and sneak out to shower, and sleep in his own bed.”

“Noted.” Rush gets off the bed, and sandwiches Hiromu between he and Naito. He leans over Hiromu’s shoulder, and kisses Naito. “C’mon, to the shower, brothers.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for @theunseeliecherubim on tumblr


	23. 23nd of December: Pudding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 23nd of December: Christmas at The Stardust Cafe means special mousse cakes, long work hours, and memories of the pretty student who who used to haunt the window corner seat for its owner, Naito.

A years ago, there was a University student who came into Naito’s little café to steal the Wi-Fi. He’d sit in the corner window seat, almost curled up into a ball over some big of pad of paper. He can’t say why this weird guy stands out in his mind, but he always has. He’d sit for hours drawing, and messing with his phone, nursing his one cup of coffee. He’d had a cute face, a little squishy maybe, but pretty. The high cheek bones, the feline-like eyes, those lips, soft, full pouting lips; he’d been a pretty thing. He always drifts to the forefront of Naito’s mind over Christmas.

The first Christmas he’d haunted the corner, he’d ordered something other than his usual cup of latte. One of the overly complicated, overly detailed snowman mousse cakes that Naito spent far too much time making. He’d spent a good twenty minutes taking pictures of that snowman cake with his phone. He’d seemed deeply reluctant to take even a bite of the cake, making it last a good hour.

The next Christmas, Naito had made the same little snowmen mousse cakes. The little student had waited to buy one until the day before Christmas. Again, he’d spent far too long taking photos of it, and hesitating on eating the cake.

The third Christmas, Naito had made different cakes. Instead of snowmen, he’d made little igloos with tiny chocolate penguins. The little student had smiled at them, but hadn’t ordered one. He’d showed up the day before Christmas, and still didn’t order one. It was the first, and pretty much only time, Naito had spoken to him. He’d asked if he didn’t like the look of them. The little student had laughed, and gestured to the price tag, saying he didn’t have the space in his budget for one. Naito had given him one, using how many pictures he took of the snowmen the year before as justification. The little student had stayed away for weeks after that. Probably embarrassed about the whole thing. Naito had stayed in the back, away from him after the free igloo, content to see him back, and not wanting to embarrass him further.

The fourth year, the student had only come in twice. Once on Valentines day, with some handsome guy who’d bought a mountain of the fancy macrons Naito had made, and a couple of the matcha and raspberry lattes that were running specially for the day. The handsome man and the little student had shared the macrons, and sipped at their lattes, talking. Naito had peeked over a few times to see the student laughing and smiling fondly at the handsome man. He’d assumed they were at very least good friends, and at very most lovers. The other time, the student had showed up the day before Christmas along. He’d ordered a little Santa mousse cake, and had given Naito a very small, very shy smile, then taken his corner window seat with his cake and his coffee. He’d nursed his coffee for hours, then he’d left, and that was the last time Naito saw him.

He made more overly complicated mousse cakes over the next few years, but he’d never seen the little student again. He’s not sure how he feels about it. There are other students, other patrons, who sit in the corner seat, but he never considers them as much the little student. He never asked his name, he never said much to him, but he remembers him well.

Christmas is a busy time for his little café, and the most difficult for staffing. His usual serving girl has gone back home, so he’s lacking in the serving department, which means he’s not able to hide from the public in the back with his cakes. He’s never been fond of serving, but he needs the customers serving if he wants to pay the bills. The little bell above his door rings, and in shuffles a nervous looking man, with a face mask enters, dusting snow from his shoulders. He approaches the counter, his eyes crinkling with a smile.

“Can I have a snowman, and a latte, please.” The voice from behind the face mask is familiar. Now that Naito looks more closely at the man’s eyes, their elegant, almost feline-like shape is equally familiar. He finds himself staring at the man for a few seconds, and almost scrambling to get his cake.

“Which one would you like?” Naito asks solely to be more certain if he knows that voice. Deeper than expected for such a _pretty_ face, if it’s the face he thinks it is.

“The one with the red scarf?” The muffled voice, paired with those eyes, this is definitely the little student from years ago. Naito sets the little cake down on a plate, then on a tray. The latte doesn’t take long to make, and he rings the bill up. The little student, because he’s _certain_ it’s the little student, pays, then settles down in the corner seat by the window, the same spot he always used to sit in. He starts taking pictures of the snowman. Then peels the face mask off. The little student. Older, and with the most scrappy beard Naito’s ever seen, but it’s definitely him.

“So, who are you staring at?” Naito hadn’t heard the bell above door ringing, but he can’t avoid Bushi’s amused laugh.

“You remember a few years back, there was the weird little art student who used to sit in that corner?” Naito finally looks away from the former student.

“ _That’s_ him?” Bushi considers the man in the corner seat. “He’s grown up well.” Bushi shrugs, and comes around the other side over the counter. “You want me to help you?” Bushi’s putting on an apron, and smiling at a customer. The customer wanders over to the corner by the window, and sits down at the table with the former student. The new customer pulls out a tape recorder, and they start talking.

“What do you think is going on over there?” Naito asks, his attention back on the window corner table.

“I think it’s none of our business, Naito.” Bushi smacks his shoulder. “You need to make more of those snowmen.”

“Yeah, we had a run on them since little student came in.” Bushi narrows his eyes at that, and pulls his phone from his pocket.

“Hashtag Stardust Cafe,” Bushi starts scrolling through his Instagram feed. “Oh, shit.” Bushi turns his phone to Naito. “I guess we know your little student’s name.” Hiromu Takahashi, creator and writer of the daily _Daryl: A Very Good Kitty_ comic strip. “And that he’s good for marketing.” Naito glances over at the table, then at the only remaining snowman, and goes to the back. He needs to get on with making more of those little snowmen.

“You know, I used to come here when I was a student.” The voice of Hiromu Takahashi, now that he knows his name, Naito can’t help but think it to himself, interrupts his snowman making.

“Did you?” Naito looks up from his work, and finds a stupid smile forming on his lips.

“Yeah,” Hiromu smiles back at him. “I always loved the cakes here.” Hiromu fidgets, and Naito straightens up regarding him properly. “You know, one year I didn’t have the money to buy one, this pretty little igloo. The guy behind the counter gave it to me for free.” Hiromu bows his head, a little blush creeping over his cheeks. He has freckles. Naito’s brain decides that’s a very important detail to linger over. Freckles. Beautiful little freckles over his cute little nose, and over those pretty high cheekbones.

“That was nice of him.” Naito manages to grind out, because his stupid brain is busy trying to count those freckles.

“Yeah, yeah it was. Hiromu, by the way.” He holds his hand out. Naito stares at it. “My name.” Naito takes that hand, and shakes it.

“Naito, well Tetsuya, but everyone calls me Naito.” He’s holding Hiromu’s hand too long, staring at the freckles.

“Thank you for that igloo, Naito-san.” Hiromu takes his hand back, and bows to him. “I promised myself once I graduated, I’d come back when I could afford to pay you for that cake.”

“That was a long time ago now.” Naito smiles, and Hiromu laughs.

“I miscalculated how much money manga artists make.” Hiromu laughs again, and sets some money down on the counter top. “I also miscalculated how much people would like a comic about my cat.”

“Your cat?” Naito plays dumb of the information Bushi had given him early.

“I draw a comic strip, Daryl. Do you know it?” Hiromu looks hopeful, like he wants Naito to know his comic. Naito does, and he’s not sure if he wants Hiromu to spot the little plush cat sitting on top of the fridge.

“I’ve heard of it.” He smiles at Hiromu for a moment, and turns back to his work.

“So, I see.” Naito looks up to see Hiromu gently touching the little plush cat. “Anyway, I just wanted to pay you back for that cake.”

“It’s okay.” Naito smiles at him, as he scoops the little plush cat from the top of the fridge, and cuddles him close. Cute. He looks _so_ cute cuddling that little toy close to his cheek, his eyes closed. “I can make you another one, if you like.” Hiromu’s eyes open, and he awkwardly sets the toy back on top of the fridge.

“That’s very kind of you. Thank you for letting me come back here, so I can thank you in person.” Hiromu gives him a brilliant smile. “I should get going. I need to actually write tomorrow’s strip.” Another smile, as brilliant as the last, and he leaves.

“Did you get his number?” Bushi comes to the back shortly after Hiromu left.

“He has freckles,” Naito manages through the dumb smile that’s on his face.

“Does he now,” Bushi rolls his eyes, and takes the newly made snowmen out to the front of the café.

Three days later, Hiromu is back. He’s wearing a smile when he approaches the counter. Naito still doesn’t have cover for the counter, and he’s definitely glad of that now.

“Hello again.” Naito starts making a latte, without Hiromu even asking. “You remember my order?”

“I do.” Naito nods, setting it down. “What cake would you like?” He’d made some more of the little igloos from years ago, along with the snowmen that have become a tradition.

“You made the igloos again?” Hiromu smiles down at them. “Oh! And some of them have them have white penguins.”

“One igloo with white penguins.” Naito smiles at Hiromu. His stupid brain is trying to count Hiromu’s freckles again. “Your freckles are cute.” Hiromu stares at him blankly. “Uh… sorry.” Hiromu blushes, a tiny, shy little smile spills over his lips.

“No, it’s,” he shakes his head, and rubs his hand over his cheek, “I don’t mind random compliments.” He gives Naito another smile. “And they’re not the feature most people choose to mention.” Another rub to his cheek. He taps his card against the machine, and takes the tray with his coffee and cake on it. “Thank you.” He goes back to the corner window seat, and Naito spends a good portion of the rest of the day cursing his dumb mouth for being quicker than his idiot brain.

A few days pass before Hiromu returns. Naito had been in the back, frosting cookies when he’d arrived, and only notices him when he’s delivering a tray of biscuits to his temporary cashier. Hiromu’s brought a sketch book with him, and has nothing but a single latte cup sitting on the table in front of him. It’s like looking through a window to the past. Naito grabs a cookie from the tray, and takes it over.

“This reminds me of when you were still a student.” Hiromu looks up at that. “You’d always sit in this spot, and nurse one latte for hours.”

“It was cold in the dorms, and your Wi-Fi was really good in this spot.” Hiromu returns to looking at his book.

“Yeah, the router is in this corner.” Naito shifts awkwardly, and sets the plate with the cookie down. “I noticed you didn’t, maybe you’re not hungry, I, I hope you don’t mind.” He finishes lamely, gesturing to the cheerful Santa Claus cookie. 

“I was going to ask you what you’d recommend. There’s so many new things in the display today.” Hiromu smiles. He has such a vast array of pretty smiles. It feels like they’re Pokémon, and Naito is trying to collect them all.

“I was in the back, we had a run on these you see.” The cookies have been selling exceptionally well, he’s pleased.

“He’s cute.”

“Yeah, you are.” Hiromu looks up from taking a picture of the cookie at that muttered comment, and Naito clears his throat. “They are. The cookies, I mean.” He smiles, and desperately looks for a way out of this awkward conversation. The chair opposite Hiromu is pushed out.

“Sit, you look tired.” Hiromu smiles at him, and considers his cookie. “I almost don’t want to do this to him.” Hiromu snaps Santa’s head off, and hands it over to Naito. He starts eating Santa from the other end, snapping off his legs. “Some sugar’ll keep you moving.” Naito takes a little bite, feeling _slightly_ bad for eating the decapitated head of Santa. “Tasty.” Hiromu grins at him, and Naito nods. He’s pleased the white chocolate and cranberry work so well.

The day before Christmas, Hiromu shows up, and makes his usual order for coffee, and ponders over which of the cakes to take.

“Let me make a suggestion.” Naito waves Hiromu away. “Go sit down, and I’ll bring you one over.”

“You’re sure?” Hiromu picks up his latte, and takes a sip. “I’ll be in my usual spot.” He winks at Naito, and heads over to his corner window seat. Naito heads to the back, and grabs the little dessert he’d made specifically for Hiromu. A little pate a bombe in the shape of Hiromu’s comic book cat, Daryl. When he takes it through, Hiromu lights up in delight. “Oh my god! It’s adorable!” He literally claps his hands. “I don’t know if you can sell these though, I’d have- “

“He’s for you, and _only_ you, Hiromu.” Naito sits down opposite Hiromu, watching him photograph the little dessert, with a grin on his face.

“I don’t think I want to eat him, he’s too cute.” Hiromu looks up at Naito, and takes hold of his hands. “Thank you, and the little Santa hat is perfect.” Naito knows he’s smiling like an idiot, but Hiromu looks so happy with his dessert, he can’t bring himself to care. He’d hoped this would make Hiromu happy, and it’s paid off exceptionally.

“Try him, and tell me if it’s good.” Naito pokes the spoon over Hiromu. “He’s mostly vanilla, but there’s a few extra flavours in him.” Hiromu tentative makes a swipe on the hat red hat on the little mousse cat, and beams.

“I was expecting strawberry,” he takes another spoonful. “Red bean was the _best_ choice though. Have you tried him?” Hiromu offers a spoonful of mousse out to Naito. “Try it.” Naito eats the mousse, and Hiromu’s smiling at him with a warm look in his eyes. “It’s good, right?”

“Yeah, I’m not bad at making desserts.” Naito leans back in his chair, watching Hiromu fondly. “Which I should be getting on with. Remember to have some refills, hmm? I need to keep my profits up.” Naito ruffles Hiromu’s hair on his way to the back, and instantly regrets such a carelessly playful touch. They’re definitely not there in their relationship, if they even had a relationship.

He spends most of the day in the back, working on keeping the display out front stocked, and doesn’t really emerge until closing time. When he does, Hiromu is fast asleep at his table. He looks so peaceful, his head in his arms, his hair falling over his face. Naito smiles down at him, and carefully moves his hair from his face. Naito’s fingers have remembered how soft Hiromu’s hair is all day, and now they trail over his forehead, learning how soft his skin is too.

“Hey, Hiro.” Naito rubs his thumb over the few freckles on Hiromu’s cheek, his eyes flutter open. “You okay?” Hiromu yawns, and rubs his eyes.

“I’m sorry.” He sits up properly. “I didn’t mean to clutter up your café all day.” Naito awkwardly takes his hand back from Hiromu’s face. He was definitely taking liberties there. He shouldn’t be petting his customers, even if they are beautiful, and sweetly sleepy.

“It’s okay.” Naito can feel the softness of Hiromu’s hair between his fingers. “You want another coffee?”

“Some tea, if you don’t mind.” Hiromu rubs his eyes again.

“Green?”

“Please,” Hiromu calls out. Naito starts brewing a pot of tea. “I’m sorry again. I really didn’t mean to clutter up your chair,” Hiromu yawns, and Naito sets the pot down in front of him.

“I was trying something out in the back, you wanna try it?” Naito decides against waiting for Hiromu’s answer, and goes to collect the desserts he’d been working on. “I’ve never been very good at eclairs, even in school, but I’ve been practicing.” Naito sets down a plate of chocolate eclairs, decorated with dark chocolate ganache, and toped with little white chocolate cat faces.

“Cute.” Hiromu snaps a quick picture of the eclairs. “You look kinda sleepy too, Naito.” Hiromu sips at the cup of tea he’s poured himself. He pours a cup for Naito, and leans back in his chair.

“Yeah,” Naito offers the plate of eclairs to Hiromu. “Go on, try one. I need to know if they’re any good. Choux pastry was never my _thing_.” Hiromu takes one up, and Naito instantly regrets going with eclairs and not buns. Hiromu’s lips look _very_ good wrapped around the bun for a moment, before he bites it. A happy little smile spreads over his lips as he chews.

“If these aren’t your thing, I’m not sure I could survive trying your speciality.” Hiromu takes another bite. “They’re delicious.”

“Thanks,” Naito ducks his head, half in modesty, half to stop himself from staring at Hiromu’s lips. They look so soft, and full, like they’d give the most perfect kisses. “I guess I’ll make a few to sell.”

“Oh, for sure!” Hiromu’s polished off his éclair, and is eyeing the plate. Naito nudges it a little closer to him. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure. I need to get to sleep soon, and too much sugar won’t help with that.”

“To sleep?” Hiromu’s already picked up another éclair, and is holding it far to close to those pretty full lips of his.

“I’m a baker, well dessert cook, and I need to get up early to make everything.” Naito cups his hands around his tea cup, soaking in the warmth.

“So, when’s bed time?” Hiromu’s look at him with a smile that makes Naito’s heart feel warmer than the teacup is making his hands.

“Honestly, I’d like it to have been a few hours ago.” Naito takes a drink of his tea, and hides a yawn against the back of his hand. “My usual staff are away for Christmas.”

“Oh, I’d offer to help but… I usually sleep most of the day. The strip needs to be in before the paper go to print, so I usually pull all-nighters, you know.” Hiromu shrugs, and finishes off his second eclair.

“Yeah, sounds like neither of us have what you could call reasonable sleeping patterns.” Naito takes an éclair, and has a bite. “Eh, for me, this isn’t too bad.”

“I told you, they’re delicious.” Hiromu reaches over, and taps the end of Naito’s nose.

“I’ll make a few for tomorrow.” Naito sets his half-eaten éclair down, and takes up his cup again.

“You look tired.” Hiromu’s fingers tentatively brush Naito’s.

“I could use a nap.” He wants to catch the fingers touching his own, and hold them, but that would be _far_ too forward.

“Do you live nearby?” Hiromu seems to have realised what his hand was doing, and is clutching his teacup like he was trying to burn his skin off on it.

“Yeah, upstairs.” Naito points upwards, and immediately feels like a moron. Of course, Hiromu would understand the concept of upstairs being up.

“Oh, that’s good.” Hiromu looks away, out of the window. “I should get going, and let you get some sleep.” He gets to his feet. “How much for the tea?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Naito waves the question off.

“Naito.” There’s something in his tone, something prideful, something that would be offended if not sated.

“I’ll add it to your bill when you’re here next, okay?” He gets to his feet, his body resentful at having to move so soon after just starting to rest.

“Tomorrow then.” Hiromu touches his shoulder lightly. “I’ll be in tomorrow, after I have a nap.” He gives Naito a look, warm, lingering, fond. “I used to work in a coffee shop, in my last year of Uni. I could… if you want, I could help out serving, if you like.” It’s tempting. The space behind the counter is narrow, Naito would have an excuse for brushing against him, but he can’t accept. It wouldn’t be fair.

“I’ll bear that in mind.” Naito reaches up, and rests his hand on Hiromu’s, trying to convey that he’ll not be taking him up on that offer. When Hiromu squeezes Naito’s shoulder, he thinks the message has been received.

Last night, it hadn’t occurred to Naito that today was Christmas, so he’s not opening. He flops back into his bed. He supposes Hiromu will drop by tomorrow. He pulls his comforter back up, and stares up at the ceiling. There’s a knock on his door, and Naito glances at his phone. Seven in the morning, a lie-in for him, but not a time he usually expects visitors. He shuffles down the stairs to his front door. He takes a peek through his peephole, and sees Hiromu, bundle up against the cold.

“Hello,” he opens the door, and is greeted by the most brilliant smile he’s ever seen from Hiromu.

“Hey.” His hand reaches out, and smoothes Naito’s hair down. “You’d forgotten it was Christmas today too, huh?” Naito’s own hand reaches up to his hair, self-conscious of his slightly too high hairline, and the fact his hair probably makes it obvious he’d just woken up.

“Eh, last night for sure, this morning, I had a lie-in.” Naito steps aside to let Hiromu in out of the cold. “Let me go put the kettle on.”

“I brought breakfast.” Hiromu assures him, holding out a bag. “I’m not a dessert chef, but I make a pretty good breakfast.” He gives Naito another brand-new smile, looking up from where he’s stooped to untie his shoes. Naito takes the bag, and nods, ignoring the urge to cup Hiromu cheek and draw him up into a kiss. Hiromu straightens up, keeping his eyes locked with Naito’s. “Where’s your kitchen?” Naito swallows, and starts leading the way up the stairs.

“This way.” Naito can feel Hiromu’s eyes on his back.

“Naito?”

“Hmm?” Naito turns back to Hiromu, and Hiromu reaches up, touching his face. “Hiromu?” Without warning, Hiromu leans up and kisses him. Naito sets the bag down on the stairs, and wraps his arms around Hiromu, holding him close.

“I’m sorry,” Hiromu looks away when he breaks the kiss.

“Sorry?” Naito catches Hiromu’s chin, stroking his thumb along his jaw. “Why?”

“I should have asked first.” He meets Naito’s eyes nervously.

“Your freckles are cute.” Naito strokes his thumb over Hiromu’s cheek. Hiromu laughs, his eyes falling closed as Naito strokes his skin.

“They’re not the feature most people choose to mention.” Hiromu blushes, and rubs his cheek against Naito’s hand.

“Yeah, you’ve said.” Naito slides his hands into Hiromu’s hair, and kisses Hiromu again. “C’mon, you said something about having breakfast for me. Lemme show you to the kitchen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for @fear-is-my-passion on tumblr


	24. 24th of December: Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 24th of December: Bushi's family have worn him out, so he intends for an early night, his scruffpot has a different idea though.

Bushi’s in bed early. It almost feels like a necessity. He loves his brothers. He _adores_ them, but sometimes, they can be tiring. Especially with Shingo in the team, and Hiromu being hurt. He finds himself being stretched thinner, and thinner. He’d taken a bath, that Sanada had run for him, and deposited some delightfully festive scented bath bomb into for him. Then Evil had brought him a cup of hot chocolate, that he knows Hiromu made because it tastes good, and had been decorated with little snowmen made of marshmallows.

“Hey there, mama.” Hiromu pokes his head into Bushi’s room, a fond smile on his lips. “You need a painkiller?”

“I’m okay, baby.” Bushi shifts in his bed, making some room beside him for Hiromu. “You okay?”

“Mmhmm,” Hiromu strokes Bushi’s cheek, and kisses his forehead. “I’m just here for the cup. I’ve put Shingo to work in the kitchen.” Bushi chuckles, and rests his head against Hiromu’s shoulder.

“You wanna stay for a bit?” Bushi glances up, and Hiromu’s arms wrap around Bushi’s waist, holding him tightly.

“Nah, Evil’s rented some movie he says I _have_ to see.” Hiromu kisses the crown of Bushi’s head, and pulls away. “I was planning on sending Naito-san up to keep you company, if that’s okay? You know how he hates scary movies.”

“Hmm, I suppose I can entertain Naito for the evening. Is Evil keeping you tonight?” Bushi leans up, and kisses Hiromu.

“Him and my snuggle pillow from Shingo-san.” Hiromu had been _incredibly_ pleased with the ridiculously long cat pillow Shingo had gifted him, choosing to snuggle it and Shingo instead of anyone else as they’d watched some Christmas movie Milano had chosen. Bushi had literally fallen asleep against Evil’s shoulder, and when the movie had ended, he’d been left with no choice in going to the bath, simply because Sanada had picked him, and taken him to it.

“Sounds like you’re in for a good night.” Bushi taps Hiromu’s nose.

“Uh-huh.” Hiromu smiles at him, and pulls away. “I’ll send Naito-san up once he’s finished helping Shingo.”

“You have Naito washing dishes?” Bushi laughs.

“I’m hurt, and pitiful,” Hiromu gets to his feet, and grabs the dirty cup from Bushi’s nightstand, “I’m milking it for all I can.” Bushi laughs at that, hoping his wince from his headache doesn’t get noticed by Hiromu. It does, but Hiromu doesn’t comment. He leans down, and kisses Bushi’s cheek. “I’ll send him up asap.” Hiromu strokes Bushi’s cheek, and leaves Bushi’s bedroom.

Naito’s gentle touch rouses Bushi from the doze he’d fallen into. His fingers trail over Bushi’s cheek, and then across his lips.

“Hey, beautiful.” Naito’s smiling when Bushi opens his eyes. Bushi reaches out to him, and pulls Naito down into a soft kiss. “Hmm, you okay? Hiro thinks you’ve a headache.”

“A little.” Naito nods at that, and pulls away. He hands Bushi a glass of water, and then presses an aspirin into Bushi’s hand. “When he said painkillers, I was expecting one of those monsters he’s been taking.” Bushi stretches out on the bed, and makes a grab for Naito. Naito flops over dramatically, his head resting on Bushi’s stomach.

“Did we tire you out today?” Naito cups Bushi’s cheek. Bushi lets his eyes fall closed, and leans against Naito’s hand.

“I’ve been feeling kind of run down lately.” Bushi smiles at Naito, and runs his hand through Naito’s hair, tucking the long strands behind his ear.

“I know,” Naito shimmies up the bed, and pulls Bushi to his chest. “I got a hell of a telling off from the others for ignoring you.”

“You’ve not been ignoring me,” Bushi cuts in, and Naito presses his finger to Bushi’s lips.

“I’ve been worrying over Hiro too much.” Naito pulls him into a kiss, his hands in Bushi’s hair.

“He needs worrying over.” Bushi pecks Naito on the tip of his nose. “I understand.”

“Shh.” Naito leans in for another kiss. “You have my full attention tonight, Kiki.” Bushi laughs at the stupid nickname, and pulls Naito into a kiss.

“Fuck my headache away, hmm?” Bushi tightens his hold on Naito when he tries to pull away. He kisses him again, and rubs a few strands of Naito’s hair between his finger and thumb.

“I’ll try my best.” Naito kisses him, and pulls away. “Lube still in the drawer?” Bushi nods, and sprawls across the bed. Naito pulls his shirt off, and throws it somewhere over his shoulder. “Right, get naked, and I’ll get the lights.” Bushi smiles at that, his head bowing. He’s always been grateful for Naito’s indulging his preference for having sex in the dark. Bushi removes his pyjamas, and settles back down on the bed, biting back a little happy groan when Naito starts rubbing his feet. “How can you have so much tension in your feet?”

“It’s not tension, but,” Bushi groans again, Naito has moved up to his calves. “Hmm, that feels good.” Bushi groans again. Naito’s delicate, long fingers have always worked magic on him.

“I’ll finish this off in the morning,” Naito leans up, and kisses Bushi, “I’ve something else I need to do.” Naito presses a slicked finger against Bushi’s hole. Bushi closes his eyes as Naito presses against his prostate, and moves that one finger in an out. A second finger enters Bushi. Naito’s kissing along Bushi’s collarbones. He moves down, and nibbles at Bushi’s nipples. A third finger presses inside Bushi, stretching him open even more.

“Enough,” Bushi tugs on Naito’s hair. “Inside me.” Naito nods, and pulls his fingers out. He starts kissing Bushi, distracting him from Naito lining his cock up with Bushi’s asshole. He enters Bushi slowly, his lips pressing kisses over Bushi’s collarbones. He bottoms out, and holds still over Bushi’s body.

“You okay?” He starts nipping at Bushi’s neck. Bushi massages Naito’s shoulder blades. He moans softly, and starts moving. Long, slow strokes, that tease Bushi’s prostate, and draw low moans from Bushi. Naito kisses Bushi, then rests his forehead against Bushi’s. His warm breath washes over Bushi’s face.

“Move, Naito.” Bushi tugs Naito’s hair lightly.

“It’s been far long since I’ve had you like this, beautiful. I’m gonna savour it.” Naito murmurs. His pace is slow, the kind of pace that unravels Bushi completely. “Sorry, Kiki.” Naito kisses Bushi again, his hands under Bushi’s shoulders, holding him close. “Love you.” Naito starts moving quicker, one hand slips between them, taking hold of Bushi’s cock.

“Love you too.” Bushi cups Naito’s face, and kisses him. Naito strokes him, squeezing his length, and nipping at Bushi’s neck. Bushi keens softly when Naito speeds up again, his hand moving quicker, his hips moving faster. Naito starts kissing him again. Bushi can always tell when Naito’s getting close. He breaks the kiss, and presses his face against Bushi’s neck. His orgasm overwhelms him, he shudders over Bushi, his hips pressing firmly against Bushi’s ass. For a moment, Naito lies over Bushi, catching his breath. He pulls out of Bushi, and sinks down his body. He swallows Bushi’s cock to the root, bobbing his head, chasing Bushi’s orgasm. “Fuck,” Bushi’s hands tangle in Naito’s hair when he comes. Naito rests his head against Bushi’s hip. In the gloom, Bushi can just make out his brilliant smile.

“Love you, mama.” Naito strokes Bushi’s cheek with a thumb.

“Love you too, papa.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last two fics are for myself, to be honest. I wanted to give Bushi something nice, but Naito was all I could find. 😂


	25. 25th of December: Spirit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 25th of December: Naito, as an exorcist of the Divine Order, has been sent to investigate a probable demon attack on a village. All he finds is thick black fog, and a pixie.

The village is deserted. The door of the first house Naito walks past is open, swinging in a breeze he can’t feel. There’s an overturned cart in the street, no sign of a horse, or driver. What should be a bustling street market is devoid, the vegetables still on the stalls. A strange fog lingers over everything, thicker, and blacker than it should be. With a sigh, Naito tightens his grip on his sword’s hilt. There’s definitely more here than the ordinary corrupted demon he’s been sent to hunt.

The scent of death is as thick as the fog. There aren’t any corpses though. It would be less unsettling if there were. There’s been no communication from the village for weeks. That’s how the request came in. Some distant relative of some villager had sent the message in, suspecting that there was foul play. Now that Naito’s here, there’s no doubt that there’s been foul play.

He’s no sure what the cause of this foul play is, but it’s not a demon, or at least no demon Naito’s ever been taught about. The Divine Order’s training had covered most things, but not deserted villages filled with fog, and nothing else.

In the middle of the town, the fog is thicker, and darker, like night was a physical thing. The ground is dark, and sticky, clinging to his feet as he walks. If this is the work of a demon, it’s no demon he’s ever dealt with before. He draws his sword. He could slice the air it’s so thick. The only sound is the shlock of pulling his feet up from the tarry ground. It sounds far too loud in the almost vacuum of the village. He keeps walking. His hand on the hilt of his sword. His steps slow, and deliberate.

It feels like he’s been walking for hours, when he finally seems a light. A strange shimmering light in the distance. The closer he gets to the light, the more clearly can see what it is.

A man.

The first other person Naito’s seen since arriving in this village. Closer still to the man, Naito can see he’s wearing a mask, the laces on the back of it, are clearly visible to Naito.

“Hmm,” the man in the mask turns to look at Naito. His inky lips quirk in a lazy smile. “A holy demon hunter? How unexpected.”

“What… what are you?” Naito falls into a stance, his feet spread, his sword at the ready, considering the distance between them. He could lunge forward, and spear this strange man easily enough, but he’s not sure that would be a good idea. The man doesn’t appear to be human. The shimmering air around him is not of human creation. He’s seen the magic wielded by humans before, and it’s not this delicate.

“Busy.” The man shakes his head, and turns away from Naito once more. Naito sighs. He’d not come here to be sassed by inhuman assholes.

“What kind of _creature_ are you?” He tries again.

“ _Busy_.” The man laughs at him. The shimmering air probably has a fifty/fifty chance of killing Naito dead if he stabs the man. He’s strongly considering it anyway. “Fae.” The man finally answers him, waving his hands to clear the shimmering air. “I’m a pixie, demon hunter.”

“Thank you.” Naito gives the pixie’s back as sarcastic a smile as he can muster in the encroaching thick black fog.

“Hurry up, and get in here.” The pixie grabs the collar of Naito’s travel robe, and drags him into a circle of strange sigils carved into the thick, sludgy ground.

“So, what kind of demon are we dealing with here, pixie?” Naito squints out into the fog, trying to see anything in the thick black.

“There are no demons here, hunter.” The pixie sighs, rubbing his forehead.

“What happened here, then?” Naito sheaths his sword, and casts a look over the wall of black fog around them.

“Something awful, but very human.” The pixie is drawing in the air, a faint shimmering trailing behind his finger. “A wraith was born in this place.”

“A what?” Naito’s training focussed on demons. He knows vast amounts about demons. He knows nothing about other inhuman creatures. The pixie stares at him blankly. “I’m a _demon_ hunter, not a wraith hunter.”

“A spirit, born of tragedy, that makes a deal with The Darkness World for power,” the pixie rolls his shoulders, and gives Naito a tight smile.

“So, this _wraith_ didn’t cause this,” Naito flaps his hands around him, indicating the thick black fog, and tarry ground.

“Yes and no.” The pixie’s scowling into the dark fog. “This is a portal into The Darkness World.”

“Uh-huh… Portal to Darkness World,” Naito rubs his eyes. They hurt from trying to pick anything out in the thick darkness. “Any idea what happened to the people who lived here?”

“I don’t know.” The pixie snaps. “It’s not important. We need to find the wraith before it gets tainted, and becomes a ghoul.”

“I’m going to nod, and agree, but I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.” Naito sighs, and rubs his eyes. The black fog seems to be pressing against the shimmering wall of light around them.

“A wraith is born of tragedy and darkness, ghouls are born of frustration.” The pixie over at him, and tuts. “Bushi.”

“What?”

“My name.” The pixie looks annoyed, folding his arms over his chest.

“Why tell me that?” There is power in knowing a Fae’s name. In giving it up so easily, the pixie has given Naito untold sway over him. The pixie, Bushi, narrows his eyes, his lips pressing tightly together.

“You’re in my future.” Bushi gives him a tight smile. “I saw you in it, so I suppose there’s no harm in letting you know my name.” By his tone, there’s a lot of harm, but Naito shrugs, not willing to push what feels like an awkward moment. He doesn’t know much about pixies, he can’t say if seeing the future is a regular gift or not.

“You see anything else?” He’s always been slightly intrigued by trying to know his future. He’s visited more than a few seers, much to the displeasure of the deity that is patron of the Order.

“A fur scarf,” the pixie laughs at him. Naito scowls over at him, but all it gets is another laugh. “We need to go further in. The wraith’s still forming, if we’re quick we can stop it from being tainted.” Naito nods vaguely, and settles his hand on his sword’s hilt.

“So, what do we have to do?” Naito starts following along behind Bushi. The pixie starts walking, his steps quick and purposeful.

The further they walk, the thicker the Darkness is, it’s like walking with his eyes closed. Bushi starts waving his hand, clearing the way in front of them. Before them looms a portal, outlined with glowing vibrant purple sigils.

“What the fuck…” Naito stares at the portal, and the swirling darkness inside it.

“The door to The Darkness World.” Bushi mutters, and touches the edge of the portal. It shudders. “It’s almost done.” Bushi steps away, rubbing his hands. “We need to be ready.” Bushi falls into an odd stance, and starts waving his hands, weaving strands of multicoloured light into another barrier. “Get in here!” He snaps. His tone brokers no arguments. Naito steps behind the wall of light the pixie has made.

For a moment, there is nothing but darkness.

Then, the light from Bushi’s barrier casts enough light to see by. The almost form of a person detaches from the spiralling portal, and collapses in a pile. The sigils blaze violently, all of the black fog is sucked into the portal. It collapses into itself, and is gone. The fog is gone. The ground is once more a dusty road, but it’s littered with corpses. Naito glances at the bundle of black that had left the portal, but ignores it. He’s more interested in the corpses. They’ll have more clues as to what happened here. He steps out of the barrier, ignoring Bushi’s shouts to stay where he is.

Sword wounds.

Each of them were murdered. Some with slashed open bellies, innards pull out. Some with slices to their throats. There are limbs missing from a few.

“What happened here?” He considers poking one of them, but it seems rude.

“Get back here, asshole!” Bushi screams, and then Naito’s head collides with a wall.

He wakes up slowly, his body hurts, but his head feels like it was split in two. He rubs his eyes, trying to clear them.

“You dead?” Bushi’s voice sounds far to loud, and far too far away at the same time. Naito pushes himself up into a sitting position. Bushi is standing over a prone vaguely human shape of black, a strange glowing ring around it. “The wraith.” Bushi nods down to the black figure.

“I’m guessing that’s what happened to me.” Naito rubs his head. The mass of black writhes, what looks like a tendril drives into the ground. It emerges outside of ring of light, and makes a lunge for Naito’s throat. Bushi curses. The rest of the wraith forms from the tendril, and wraps its hands around Naito’s throat. “So, not a demon, huh?” Naito grinds out. The wraith is nothing but an inky black, man-shaped hole in reality. The creature suddenly pulls away.

“Not one of them.” It hisses.

“One of who?” Naito rubs his throat, watching the shadow creature.

“Men came,” the shadow ripples, “killed everyone.” The shadow seems to teleport over to the corpse of a young man. “Killed the man who made the deal.” The shadows engulf the corpse. Bushi approaches Naito, touching his shoulder.

“You okay?” Bushi asks him quietly, keeping his attention on the shadow engulfed corpse.

“So, is this regular wraith behaviour?” Naito scoots back, further away from the corpse. Bushi shakes his head. The shadows seem to be absorbed by the corpse, leaving it dressed in a long, thick, jet black robe. Nothing happens for what feels like a life time.

Then, the corpse takes a breath.

Bushi is on his feet, waving his hands, forming a new barrier.

“Relax, Pixie.” The corpse raises to its feet, and pulls the hood that it was wearing off. Bushi looks at the man beneath the hood with narrowed eyes, a look of realisation comes over him, and a reluctant smile spreads over his lips.

“Of course, Evil.” He laughs, and the wraith inclines his head. “Naito, this is Evil,” Naito glances over at the robed figure. “The _king_ of Darkness.” Evil gives Naito a smile, and Naito rubs his throat again. It still hurts from being squeezed so tightly.

“So, Evil,” it feels strange to call someone Evil, but apparently that’s his name, so Naito will roll with it, “what happened here?” Evil levels him with a serious, cold look.

“Suzuki Gun.”

The exorcist compound is located in a bustling town. Many groups pass through, either to visit the Divine Order, or on the way to the Golden Prince’s palace. Despite that, Naito is painfully aware that his new travelling companions kind of stand out. Pixies are permitted to wander about freely under the Prince’s rule, but he’s not sure what the laws regarding kings of Darkness are. Evil seems to not actually care. He’s striding along, unconcerned, dressed in his jet-black robes, thankfully the massive scythe, he’d carried on the road here, is gone. He’s not sure that the Divine Order will be much use to Evil in his quest to destroy Suzuki’s army, but he supposes that there might be more in the way of information about their location there if nothing else, so he’d taken both Bushi, who remains convinced his and Naito’s fates are entwined, and Evil, who doesn’t look like no is an answer he’d accept, with him.

On the edge of the exorcist compound, there’s what is basically a whore house, known colloquially known as a cat house. It’s not approved of by The Divine Order, but it’s not actively disapproved of either, if only because so many of the Exorcists take demons they’ve captured there. The major problem with demons is that they mostly look like particularly beautiful humans, granted there’s a few cat-like ears, or fangs, or claws, and a few tails, but most of them are beautiful, which means cat houses make a lot of profit. If some of that profit finds its way to the Divine Order’s coffers, then no one seems to mind.

He doesn’t like walking past the cat house, especially during the day. At night, a few of the demon _cats_ will be out trying to entice customers, but during the day there’s something painfully tragic about it. Bushi shoots it a dismissive glare on his way past. Evil pauses

“It’s a cat house.” Bushi mutters, adjusting his travel robe, making sure his wings stay hidden. Evil nods, stroking his beard thoughtfully.

“You know someone in there?” He asks Naito, his tone making it clear that he knows full well that Naito does know one of the cats in there. He’d met the young demon quite by accident. He’d been washing bedsheets in the river closer to the exorcist compound one morning as Naito had been returning. There’d been something about him that had made Naito stop. They’d struck up a conversation, and became somewhat friends. Like all of the cats, he’s pretty, and a night with him wouldn’t be work, but Naito has never gone in to purchase it. It feels like it would be demeaning, or offensive. It’s something that Naito has never really considered beyond absently watching the pretty demon wash the cat house’s bedsheets, with his little tongue poking out of his mouth as he scrubs particularly stubborn stains.

“Yeah…” Naito keeps walking, his eyes on the riverbank, where he spots a figure washing bedsheets. “Hiromu!” The little demon is struggling with a sheet, holding one arm too close to his body, and Naito starts walking quicker. His protective instincts pricked by the idea of the little demon being hurt. He knows many patrons aren’t kind, but he’s never seen anything more than bruises on the little demon.

“Ah! Naito-san!” Hiromu squeaks when Naito ploughs through the shallow water, and wrangles the wet sheet from him. His left hand is wrapped with a stark white badge that he’s trying to keep dry.

“What happened?” Naito drops the sheet on the bank, and catches Hiromu’s left elbow, squinting at the bandages. The demon laughs awkwardly, and shakes his head.

“It doesn’t matter.” Hiromu, drops to his knees, and starts one-handed scrubbing at a stain on the sheet that looks suspiciously like blood.

“What happened?” Bushi repeats the question in a stern tone, kneels, and picks Hiromu’s wrapped hand up. “These wrappings look old,” Bushi starts unwinding it. Three of Hiromu’s fingers are mangled, the tips missing, and long gouges in them. Whatever happened to him looks like it must have been agonising. Naito’s fingers are itching to draw his sword, and storm the cat house.

“What the fuck?” Naito looks up at Hiromu. The little demon ducks his head, looking away. He fumbles for something to say.

“Forceable declawing is a punishment in cat houses.” Evil’s voice is low, and tinged with violence. “Usually, they only do one at a time though.”

“Yeah,” Hiromu tries to pull his wounded hand back from Bushi. “I…” Hiromu shakes his head, still trying to free his hands from Bushi’s grasp, which is clearly hurting him, because a little sheen of sweat is forming on his brow.

“Hold still.” Bushi murmurs, a little ball of light forming between his fingers.

“What were you punished for?” Naito asks, turning to the bedsheets that need washing, anything to distract from his rage. Evil joins him in getting on with the washing, his motions just as jerky, and vicious.

“A man wanted to buy me.” Hiromu curls into himself, fidgeting. Naito’s jaw tightens, but he decides against saying anything. When someone buys a cat, they own it, and can do whatever they like with it. Most bought cats end up in the river. Initiates into the Divine Order have to fish them out of the water in the mornings. “I refused.” Hiromu gives a tight little smile to the patch of ground he’s looking at.

“The man who wanted to buy you,” Evil looks up from the sheet he’s washing at Hiromu with keen interest in his eyes, “did you know him?”

“He’s come in before.” Hiromu’s started watching Bushi and the little ball of light he’s formed around the mangled mess of his fingers. His skin looks like it’s losing colour as the little ball of light gets brighter and brighter.

“What does he look like?” Evil has abandoned the washing, leaving Naito to do it himself.

“Tall, ish at least,” Hiromu sighs, shrugs, and then yelps in pain.

“Don’t move.” Bushi admonishes him. Hiromu nods, and seems to sit up straighter. His attention rapt on the ball of light.

“He wears a mask.” Hiromu offers that piece of information almost reluctantly. Evil reaches over, and catches hold of Hiromu’s chin, forcing him to look in his eyes. Hiromu looks distinctly uncomfortable with the forceable gesture.

“A black and white mask?” Hiromu nods in response to Evil’s question. “Desperado,” he sneers, his fingers tightening around Hiromu’s chin for a second, then relax. “One other question, was he with a long man?”

“A long man?” Hiromu leans back, out of Evil’s grasp. He looks over at Naito, all eyes and fear. He gives Hiromu a smile, hoping to make Hiromu feel more relaxed, or at least safe. He doesn’t know if it works, because Hiromu quickly returns to looking at the ball of light.

“I guess you mean tall, Evil?” Naito sits up from washing the sheet, and puts his hand in reach for Hiromu should he want it. He apparently does, his fingers clutch at Naito’s. Even if he doesn’t _look_ at Naito, being able to offer him some physical comfort feels good.

“A tall, thin, foreign man.” The quiet comment from Hiromu gets a vicious smile from Evil.

“Sabre.” He starts washing the sheet again. “Do you know where the men went?”

“Uh… I was kind of…” Hiromu closes his eyes, his fingers tighten around Naito’s.

“Of course.” Evil nods, and the shadows start helping wash the sheets. “The mistress will have names. I’ll get them.” His eyes are narrowed, glaring down at the sheets. “And then, I’ll drag their souls to Darkness World.”

“This Sabre guy is part of Suzuki’s army then?” Naito asks. Hiromu hasn’t let go of Naito’s hand yet, the little demon looks even paler, like whatever Bushi is doing is draining him, but Naito’s beginning to lose feeling in his fingers. Even little demons are strong. “Let me help out with these sheets.” Naito wriggles his fingers, and Hiromu finally releases his almost crushing grip.

For a long time, the four of them sit in silence, Evil and Naito washing the sheets, Bushi working whatever magic he’s using on Hiromu’s wounds, as the little demon sitting there quietly. When the last sheet is washed, Evil casts a quick glance around, and the wet sheets are swept up by shadows, then draped over the washing line near the cat house. Evil himself vanishes with the shadows into the cat house itself. Bushi finally looks up from his work, and at Hiromu.

“Little demon, you have a _smaller_ form, right?” Bushi touches Hiromu’s cheek gently, drawing Hiormu’s attention from his mangled fingers. “I had to redirect a lot of your energy to start on re-growing those missing claws, so you need to rest.”

“I’ll go back-“

“You’re going nowhere near that place.” Bushi snaps. The pixie sounds determined, and Naito agrees, no matter what, Hiromu is no longer a cat.

“We’re stealing you.” Naito touches Hiromu’s cheek. The little demon blushes, his usually perky little cat-like eats flatten against his head. “You’re a kamaitachi, right?” Hiromu looks at him, all eyes and nervousness.

“Mostly, at least.” Hiromu mutters, his tail taps on the ground with a soft thwap.

“So, you be a cute little weasel, and I’ll let you sleep on my shoulders.” Naito gives him his best reassuring smile.

“You’re sure you won’t mind? I promise, I’m not heavy.” Hiromu gives him as shy smile. Naito ruffles his hair, and taps his nose.

“I’m sure. Now, weasel.” With an odd little puff of smoke, the little demon is replaced by a small weasel, no more than a foot long, excluding his tail, which is at least as long as his body and half again. “You’re nothing but tail, hmm?”

“It’s a good tail.” As a weasel, Hiromu’s voice is almost inaudible, small and soft, like a whisper.

“Very good.” Bushi strokes a finger down the little weasel’s back, and takes up his little wounded paw, and engulfs it in light. Then he scoops Hiromu, and drapes him over Naito’s shoulders. “No using the front left paw to hold on, alright? I’ll change the wrappings in a few hours. Slow and steady, or he’ll fall, Naito.” Naito nods, and finds his hand going up to pet Hiromu’s tail. It’s soft, hanging down the edge of his travel robe, so that the long hairs are brushing over his collarbone. It’s an oddly reassuring sensation.

“I have a lead on the Gun.” Evil manifests in front of them, scythe in hand. “We need to leave now.” Bushi gets to his feet, and helps Naito up, careful of Hiromu wrapped around his neck. “You’ve got a scarf now?” Evil asks, gesturing to where Hiromu is resting.

“I did say you’d have a fur scarf.” Bushi laughs, and turns to Evil. “Which way?”

“Towards the Golden Palace.” Evil gestures with his scythe, and looks to Naito. “Are you coming?” Naito looks back, and considers the exorcist compound. Around his neck Hiromu shifts, his little furry body rubbing against the back of Naito’s neck. He reaches up, and smoothes his hand down the demon’s long, fluffy tail again. Going back to the compound isn’t an option, not with a demon around his neck, and the weight of those dead villagers on his mind. He could hand Hiromu’s sleeping form to Bushi, and go back himself, forgetting this whole thing and going on with his life, or he could follow the lead they have, and start tracking down the army the slaughtered that village, caused Hiromu to be so horribly wounded, and probably did something to Bushi that he’s not revealed yet, because there’s probably more horrors caused by this Suzuki and his army. Hiromu shifts again, his little claws digging in just a little, as though to remind Naito that he’s there, even if he is asleep.

“Fuck it, I never did like the white travel robes.” Naito carefully strips off his travel robe, and turns on his heel, walking along side Evil and Bushi. He has an army to hunt down, and probably a whole swath of villages to avenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays! If you'd like to give me a present, I'd very much like kudos or comments.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to everyone who has made a request - I think I've got more than enough now 😊 Still, if you'd like to visit my tumblr it's: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/bingbinghua  
> If you'd like to spread some Christmas cheer my way, a kudo or a comment are always welcomed 😊


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